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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364280">Twelfth Grade AKA WTF is Going On</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitsuneLune/pseuds/Pondfrost'>Pondfrost (AkitsuneLune)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warriors - Erin Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2020 stole my last year of high school so I'm writing my own, Alternate Universe - 2020 Isn't a Fucking Nightmare, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Shakespeare, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Confessing love in Shakespeare verse, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kate Cary cameo, Line Practice, M/M, Miscommunication, Mostly extremely light n fluffy, Nobody dies (obviously?), Panic Attacks, Starting at a new school, Tech crew being a squad, Theatre Rehearsal, but if you do know anything about Twelfth Night there are some kernels in there for you, crackships, everyone says fuck, high school theatre, rarepairs, you don't actually need to know anything about Twelfth Night I've included a summary within the fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:40:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>64,371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitsuneLune/pseuds/Pondfrost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If music be the food of love, then play that funky music white boy. The cast of Power of Three and Omen of the Stars, rewritten as high school students with personalities, more crackships than the daily recommended intake, and a lot of Shakespeare-based chaos. T for swearing</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blossomfall/Ivypool (Warriors), Briarlight &amp; Jayfeather (Warriors), Briarlight/Dovewing (Warriors), Cinderheart &amp; Lionblaze (Warriors), Foxleap &amp; Icecloud (Warriors), Foxleap/Berrynose (Warriors), Hazeltail/Lionblaze (Warriors), Hollyleaf &amp; Jayfeather &amp; Lionblaze (Warriors), Hollyleaf/Honeyfern (Warriors), Ivypool &amp; Mousewhisker (Warriors), Poppyfrost &amp; Honeyfern (Warriors), Poppyfrost/Self-confidence (Warriors)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Care's an Enemy to Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p> Hello, hello, hello again! If you’re new here, I’m Akila. I write fanfiction. Hopefully you’re here to read the fanfiction.</p><p>So let’s talk about this one in particular, because I’m very excited to show off what I’ve been working on for the past months! Twelfth Grade AKA WTF is Going On is a High School AU with the cast of Power of Three and Omen of the Stars, following them over the course of their high school production of Twelfth Night by William Shkspr</p><p>This HS!AU will hopefully be slightly different from others I’ve seen; no shade, but this is what an actual high school is like. Normal teenagers, classes, relationships, etc. It’s hopefully realistic, though I have made it a little fantasized (less soul-crushing than a regular high school, basically). It also takes place in the fictional Toronto high school ‘St Erin’s’ because as many of you know, I’m Canadian and I’m writing what I know.</p><p>Everyone has been given new names and backgrounds with certain ties/nods to their canon selves. Just about every ship has been rearranged to suit me because I enjoy crackships. Everyone hates Bumblestripe, and don’t expect an explanation for it. Hopefully it shouldn’t be too tricky to suss out who’s who, but I’ll drop a full list below that you can peruse at your leisure. Characters will get nicknamed or fullnamed depending on whose perspective it is. If you’re confident in your deduction skills, please hop right in!</p><p>Hermelinda ‘Mel’ Cuerves - Hollyleaf, Leandro ‘Lee’ Cuerves - Lionblaze, Julio ‘Jules’ Cuerves - Jayfeather</p><p>Moiz Tandon - Mousewhisker, Haiza Tandon - Hazeltail, Baru Tandon - Berrynose</p><p>Corinne ‘Cory’ Feddersen - Cinderheart, Heloise Feddersen - Honeyfern, Penelope Feddersen - Poppyfrost</p><p>Bruno Aiken - Bumblestripe, Bellona ‘Belle’ Aiken - Blossomfall, Blaire Aiken - Briarlight</p><p>Daphne Pommier - Dovewing, Ivette ‘Ivy’ Pommier - Ivypool</p><p>Isadora ‘Izzie’ ‘Iz’ ‘Isa’ Hämäläinen - Icecloud, Fredrik ‘Freddy’ Valterri Hämäläinen - Foxleap</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Haiza -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            You know, I’ve always thought that there’s nothing worse than being in love with your best friend.</p><p>            When the cast list is posted and I see:</p><p>            <strong>VIOLA/CESARIO - HAIZA TANDON</strong></p><p>Printed at the very top, and then a couple lines down:</p><p>            <strong>ORSINO - LEANDRO CUERVES</strong></p><p>            I realize that there is, in fact something worse: playing the love interest to your best friend and secret object of affections in your favourite Shakespearean comedy.</p><p>            So yeah, September 14th was the day I realized I was turbofucked.</p><p>            Alright, let me back up a bit.</p><p>            Hi! I’m Haiza, most of my friends call me Haze, and this is the prologue to <em>how </em>I arrived in this state of turbofuckery. If you wanna go back to the very, very beginning, I can tell you all about my idyllic, picket-fence childhood, my English-professor, Indian-Canadian mom, my classic-lit-loving engineer dad, my idiot brothers, and my idiot best friend. Then we can fast-forward to when that idiot best friend grew eight inches over a single summer, learned to flirt, and destroyed any chance I had of a normal heartbeat near him.</p><p>            But since I don’t wanna bore you, let’s skip ahead to the auditions.</p><p>            I showed up after my last class (grade eleven bio, disgusting) with my script in hand and a healthy amount of fear in my soul. I’m not naturally timid, but I’m not a born theatre kid either. The only reason I’m here is because <em>something </em>from my parents stuck in my brain and I’ve been obsessed with Shakespeare since middle school, so I wasn’t gonna let a chance to snag a small role in Twelfth Night pass me by. I know I’m destined for Curio or something, but I’m super excited to be involved even a little bit anyway.</p><p>            Hopefully onstage.</p><p>            Look, I’m not above tech crew; I was a stagehand last year for Mamma Mia, but I want to <em>speak</em> the Shakespeare, not just listen to it, and anyhow, I’m scared shitless of the tech head. I’d take Mr. A’s kookiness over Mel Cuerves’s iron-fisted rule any day. She’s going to be even more terrifying now that she’s head honcho, in grade twelve.</p><p>            The aforementioned Mr. A pops his head out of the gym to beckon in the next person lined up; a tall, skinny girl with one of those fall-raven-kanken-whatever bags. As I watch her platinum-blonde ponytail disappear through the door, I can’t help thinking <em>Could she be Olivia? That’s Izzie Something-or-other, grade 11, so maybe she’ll get a big role.</em></p><p>            “Haaaaaaaaaaaaaai-za!” a boy trills from the end of the hallway. I cover my face with my script as Leandro lopes toward the line of students, ignoring the tail end and cutting right into the middle to stand by me. “Sup? Have you gone in yet?”</p><p>            I motion to the long line in front of me, and he surveys them grandly like he didn’t notice.</p><p>            “Oh yeah! Well, we can wait together,” he decides.</p><p>            “What?!” <em>Oh God, please don’t tell me he...</em></p><p>            “What do you mean, <em>whaaaaat</em>?” he mimics me with a wide grin. “I’m auditioning too! D’you think you’re the only one who can appreciate Billy Shakes?”</p><p>            I elbow him. “I think <em>you’re </em>not the sort who usually appreciates <em>Billy Shakes</em>. Why didn’t you tell me you signed up?”</p><p>            He gives me a familiar careless shrug, ruffling his thick, dark hair, and smiles even brighter. “After reading Twelfth Night in grade nine, I mean… it just swept me away. I’ve had a hit of the drug, and I need more!”</p><p>            <em>Midsummer’s in ten and Merchant of Venice in eleven wasn’t enough?</em> “The… classic lit drug?” I repeat doubtfully.</p><p>            “Exactly!” He punches my shoulder and I scooch backward.</p><p>            <em>Keep at least five feet away from the overexcited Leandro at all times, and please don’t feed him.</em></p><p>            “Can you… act…?” I ask.</p><p>            Leandro gasps, pressing a hand to his chest, then exclaims, “You wound me! I’m a great actor. I picked a monologue and everything.”</p><p>            “Did you memorize it?” I press. <em>He’s definitely in a dramatic mood.</em></p><p>            He shrugs. “Pretty much. I figure the prose will just <em>sweep </em>me away and I’ll do it perfectly!” He waves his hand for effect, and I snatch the paper out of his hand, then scan it.<em> All’s Well That Ends Well, delivered by the King.</em></p><p>            “You picked a monologue in verse,” I point out.</p><p>            He blinks.</p><p>            “It’s not prose.”</p><p>            He shrugs again. “Well, guess I better not say that in the audition!”</p><p>            I slap my forehead.</p><p>            “Oh, lighten up, Haze,” he teases. “It’ll be fun! Who do you wanna get?”</p><p>            “Uh, I’d be happy with anything,” I say. “As long as I don’t have to sing too much.”</p><p>            “You have a good voice!” he protests.</p><p>            “Not in front of a hundred old white people, I don’t.”</p><p>            My comments don’t seem to dim Leandro’s enthusiasm at all, and he immediately begins prattling on about every character from Twelfth Night and their merits as a role, which is both an impressive display of his memory of the play, and irritatingly charming. I’m glad when I’m called in for my audition, if only to give me a second of respite from his stream of consciousness. Mr. A and Ms. Cary, the band teacher, are sitting at a folding table in the middle of the gym. I walk in, self-conscious of how my sneakers squeak on the waxed floors and pass my monologue to Mr. A. I picked one from Twelfth Night, hopefully not too presumptuously, and when Mr. A gives me the cue, I launch into it.</p><p>            My voice sounds a little wavery when I start, but once I finish the first sentence, I take a big breath and let the next one out more steadily.</p><p>            “What means this lady?” I ask them, trying not to make direct eye contact with the teachers to avoid throwing myself off. “Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her!”</p><p>            I gesture to myself and Mr. A laughs, probably just to set me at ease. Still, it emboldens me and I go on, my voice growing until I’m almost filling our little bubble of space in the giant gym. In the whole of it, I think I skipped a line and paused when I wasn’t supposed to once, but overall… not too bad.</p><p>            Mr. A claps, his eyes twinkling, and Ms. Cary cracks a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I don’t think her opinion of me ever recovered after I dropped band in grade nine.</p><p>            “Fantastic, Haiza! Thanks so much for coming in,” he says. “We’re just gonna get you to sing a quick song and then we’ll check our schedules to make sure you’ve got time for this kind of production! So what song do you have prepared?”</p><p>            I try not to visibly grimace. “The… national anthem?”</p><p>            “Okay, great!” Mr. A says, undaunted by my terrible choice. Ms. Cary’s half-smile drops away and I take a deep breath.</p><p>            To preserve my self-esteem, let’s just skip past this part. You know how it went anyway; <em>somehow </em>I charmed them, they decided it was a great idea to drop the principal role on me, and even <em>worse</em>, Leandro snagged the leading man’s spot.</p><p>            That’s basically the long and short of how an extracurricular I was excited for turned into ‘Oh God, my life is over,’ real quick. Can’t wait for rehearsals.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Corinne -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            I should have learned from chess club, I think.</p><p>            What I mean is, every time Haze does something, Lee jumps in with her, and then drags me behind him. I guess I owe him for being a good running partner, but at this point, the scales have tipped and he’s racking up a debt. Chess club was <em>so boring</em>, and this better not be the same or he owes me big time. There will be bench pressing involved.</p><p>            The auditions went surprisingly okay, to be fair; I accidentally got really into it, and it ended up being fun. It’s kind of a curse, honestly—I’m addicted to trying new things, getting obsessed for a week, and then moving on. I think everyone around me would be really confused if Shakespeare was my newest fixation, and while I don’t think I’m going to be rushing off to a library to go read a billion pages of <em>forsooth</em>s and <em>verily</em>s... I’m actually feeling optimistic about this Twelfth Night thing.</p><p>            I got a chance to sing again for the first time in a while, which was fun, and shout some dramatic monologue from one of the vaguely-named Shakespeare plays about some ugly girl and some idiot in love with her. I picked it because it was long, not gonna lie. Go big or go home, right?</p><p>            Mr. A thought it was good, and Ms. Cary gave me one of those sharp nods after I finished my song. Felt good to succeed at something and not have to powerwash my whole body afterward. I think if I was shouting monologues for an hour I might break a sweat, but as it stands, I leave the gym with dry underarms.</p><p>            When I finished the audition, I was feeling good and thinking that it might be fun to get a small role. If nothing else, Leandro and I could goof off in rehearsal. But that was not meant to be, unfortunately; I guess all my shouting really blew them away, because when I regretfully abandon my sandwich and gatorade to go find the cast list with Haze and Lee, I find my name way too high up the list to give me any chance of getting out of this with a light workload.</p><p>            “Olivia?” I read. “What’s her deal, again?”</p><p>            Leandro makes a noise like a <em>squee</em> and Haze and I turn to him with the same look.</p><p>            “Oh, this is amazing!” he crows. Haze looks faintly sick. “We’re getting married!”</p><p>            He tries to sling an arm around her and Haze ducks out of the way, elbowing him, but without faltering, he claps his hands together and turns to me. “And I’m going to annoy the shit out of you!”</p><p>            “Like you don’t already?” I retort with a grin. “C’mon, who’s Olivia?”</p><p>            “The lady I spend half the play obsessed with,” Leandro proclaims. “And then I send <em>Cesario</em> here,” he says, poking Haze, “to go romance you, but you fall in love with her.”</p><p>            “Gay? Nice. Also, since when do you know so much about some dusty old play?”</p><p>            Leandro cackles. “Since I got to use it an excuse to fall in love with my friends!”</p><p>            I ignore him, turning to look down at Haze. “So, is she like… important?”</p><p>            She shrugs, edging away from Leandro and retreating into her six-thick scarf pile like a hermit crab. “You could argue that the whole plot revolves around her, but she doesn’t have too many lines.”</p><p>            “What about yours?” I smile. <em>Whew. Important without stuff to memorize? My lucky day.</em> “You’re listed first.”</p><p>            “Viola’s… pretty much the protagonist,” Haze admits, looking a bit sick again. “Um… I have no idea why they picked me.”</p><p>            “Because you’re fantastic and this is going to be <em>hilarious</em>,” Leandro exclaims, his dark eyes dancing. “Oh my gosh, when does rehearsal start? This is going to be amazing.”</p><p>            To distract Leandro and possibly save Haze from throwing up on the cafeteria floor, I scan the list again. “Hey, Lee, didn’t Julio audition too?”</p><p>            “He sure did! I forced him too,” he admits proudly. “And look! Malvolio! That’s a huge part, he’s like the main villain!”</p><p>            I frown. <em>A huge part for Julio?</em> Leandro’s younger brother, blind and acid-tongued, is apparently shouldering a ‘huge part’ despite being in grade ten. <em>Must’ve wowed Mr. A. </em>The other grade twelves on the list don’t appear to have landed the major roles; I recognize Moiz, Bruno… <em>Oh, Penny got Viola-understudy. Nice. </em>“Huh. Well, me and Julio can hang out while you two lovebirds are making eyes at each other onstage.”</p><p>            “We’re hardly—” Haze begins, her brown skin flushing darker, “—I mean, Viola and Orsino only really get together at the end. Besides, Malvolio has that whole… <em>situation</em> with Olivia.”</p><p>            I quirk an eyebrow at Haze. <em>She’s acting weird. Wonder what’s up.</em></p><p>            “I almost forgot about that!” Leandro’s eyes round, then he grins. “No spoilers. I’m sure Mr. A will have us all read it together.”</p><p>            He and Haze exchange evil smirks. <em>Well, that’s more normal.</em> I roll my eyes. “Alright, keep your secrets. I’ve got football practice after school, so you two can have some bonding time on the bus ride home.”</p><p>            <em>Olivia, eh? They better not put me in some frilly dress. Maybe I’ll be a butch lesbian.</em> I guess I’ll just have to find out what ‘the Malvolio situation’ is before I pass judgement on whether this is gonna rock or suck.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>- Blaire -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            Julio’s braille Twelfth Night nearly breaks the cafeteria table as he drops it in front of me.</p><p>            “Christ, dude,” I comment, wheeling myself back a couple inches to avoid the possible cave-in. “That’s a <em>tome</em>.”</p><p>            “And I guess I’m going to be poring over it for the next six months,” he grumbles, slipping into his chair and taking a long swig from his water bottle. “Why did I let Lee convince me to do this?”</p><p>            “Because you’re a good actor, a good brother, and are exactly like Malvolio,” I list off. “Seriously. A match of no-fun-allowed-old-soul-puritans made in heaven.”</p><p>            He snorts. “Sure. What the hell does ‘puritan’ even mean?”</p><p>            “Prude,” I tell him brightly. “Get used to being called it, because that’s like, half the plot of the play. I remember way too much of grade nine.”</p><p>            He groans. I reach over and pat his arm. He usually doesn’t react to unexpected touches from me anymore, but I pull back my hand quickly anyway. “I’m happy with my bit, anyway.”</p><p>            “Fabian?” he says doubtfully.</p><p>            I shrug. “Well, yeah, and understudying Toby. Understudying? Studying-under? Being the understudy to? In any case, it’s about the best us <em>mortals </em>can hope for. Or so I thought; apparently grade tens <em>can </em>get giant roles. Julio Cuerves, breaking the glass ceiling since oh-five.”</p><p>            His lips tug down, and he leans back in his chair, angling his head slightly in the direction of my brother’s voice across the cafeteria. “Apparently. I wish you got all of Toby; now we all get to deal with Bruno for longer than... the advised amount.”</p><p>            I cringe. Never let it be said that I’m a pessimist, but I’m also not stupid. I know that my older brother getting a big role means we’re all in for hell. Right now, he’s directing his milquetoast harassment Daphne’s way, which isn’t unusual these days. She’s too polite to tell him to fuck off, and I know he’s already mentally writing his little narrative of ‘cool boy, shy girl’ for their so-called love story. I look away, getting secondhand embarrassment the longer I watch Daphne’s tightening smile.</p><p>            “How’d your audition go?” I change the subject.</p><p>            Julio grimaces. “Too well, apparently.”</p><p>            “Oh, c’mon, it might be fun,” I prod. “Doesn’t Malvolio have that whole yellow-stockings thing with Olivia? ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness—’”</p><p>            “Don’t say it.” Julio shrivels up like a neglected plant. “S’gonna be so embarrassing.”</p><p>            “Just think about how Cory’ll feel,” I tease him. “Your hopeless pursuit of her won’t be <em>so</em> hard to fake, will it?”</p><p>            He scowls. “That was like six years ago. And if you wanna talk about hopeless pursuit, isn’t Daphne playing Maria? And…”</p><p>            “Maria and Toby get together, correct.” This is what I meant by I remember <em>too much </em>of grade nine. Although being surprised when my asshole brother gets to run off with five and a half feet of adorable French girl isn’t really a better option. “Let’s hope Bruno starts puking his guts up halfway through the run.”</p><p>            Julio wrinkles his nose.</p><p>            “That, or I’ll break his legs.” I lean forward, suddenly feeling a burst of hope. “This could be the chance I was looking for. If I get at least one performance as Toby, I <em>guarantee </em>I’ll get Daphne to love me back.”</p><p>            Julio rolls his eyes. “You said that when she forgot her chemistry homework, and yet you remain tragically single.”</p><p>            “Shakespeare’s on my side with this one,” I inform him, ignoring his pessimism as per usual. “Dude was <em>majorly</em> bi, I did a whole english project on his sonnets. Ooh, speaking of the sonnets, maybe if I compose—”</p><p>            “Can you put your sapphic thespian fantasies on hold until I’ve finished my chili?”</p><p>            I sigh. Julio’s not exactly a romantic, and I doubt it’ll change, but in the interest of not pissing off my best friend, I relegate my Daphne-daydreams to my brain and begin fiddling with a corkscrew of black hair that escaped my kerchief. Then I let out another, more lovelorn sigh. Julio’s eyes flick up to deliver another searing, unseeing look.</p><p>            “We’re listening to <em>Zima Blue</em>,” he says, frowning at me when I sigh for a third time.</p><p>            “Oh, c’mon, you picked the last three days.”</p><p>            “You’ve been particularly annoying the last three days,” he answers.</p><p>            It’s been a bit of a ritual since we were kids, I guess—Julio’s loaded, deadbeat dad bought him some now-ancient media player and earbuds for his eighth birthday. When he sat next to me in the ‘special’ section of the school bus and offered me an earbud, I decided he’d be my best friend. Then we started listening to <em>Animorphs </em>and the rest is history. We share everything, trade anything, including genders assigned at birth (woot, trans buddies). Eventually, the audiobook thing became a bit of a score-settler; if one of us was being annoying, the other would get to pick the book for the bus.</p><p>            We’ve hardly touched <em>The Kiss Quotient</em>, although I’m sure Julio won’t be inclined to be more patient with me once we get four hours deep in another cheesy romance. What can I say, though? I’m a sucker for a happy ending.</p><p>            “Well, you just made the worst mistake of your life,” I say, good mood returning suddenly. “Now that you’ve used your one bargaining chip, I’m going to talk about her all day and you can’t stop me. Where to start? How about the fact that she’s freakin’ adorable? She bites her nails so much and I’m like <em>What are you so nervous about?</em> You’re gonna ace that math test, you’re super smart.”</p><p>            Julio groans and buries his head in his hands.</p><p>            “She probably owns American Girl Dolls, right? Is that cute or creepy?”</p><p>            “Creepy,” he volunteers, voice muffled by the sleeve of his hoodie.</p><p>            “I dunno, I think it’s adorable. Hey, if you’re not gonna finish that chili…?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Ivette -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            Three taps deep in google, and all I’ve determined is that he’s gay.</p><p>            My acid-green acrylic makes a satisfying <em>click</em> against my phone screen as I go back a page to sort through the search results again.</p><p>            “Hmm. A pirate,” I muse.</p><p>            “Dope,” Moiz answers, engrossed in his own search. “Apparently Sebastian’s some kind of minor noble or something and then he gets in a shipwreck.”</p><p>            “Oh yeah, I remember the shipwreck.” I nod, peering at the phone screen. I’m testing out a pair of colour contacts, and after half a day, I can safely say these ones are going in the garbage. “Hm. This one says that Antonio was like a father to Sebastian.”</p><p>            Moiz cocks an eyebrow. “So you’re either my pirate dad or my pirate boyfriend.”</p><p>            I shrug and drop my phone on the table. “Seems like it. I’m going for boyfriend; I don’t think I can pull off the fatherly angle.”</p><p>            “You just wanna make it gay,” he accuses me and I shrug again.</p><p>            “Guilty as charged.”</p><p>            “Mr. A’s the gayest dude I’ve ever seen, so I’m sure he’ll be onboard,” Moiz agrees, stuffing another forkful of sabzi into his mouth. “Besides, isn’t Twelfth Night already one of the super gay ones?”</p><p>            I roll my eyes and immediately regret it when these shitty contacts get stuck. I blink them out, irritable, and wipe them onto the table. <em>Stupid things.</em> “It’s four hundred years old, how gay can it be?”</p><p>            He grabs my phone, and I remember that I meant to change my password when he easily taps it in, and then he reads something from the screen aloud. “<em>My desire, more sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth</em>.” He hands me back the phone and grins. “Fatherly?”</p><p>            “Not unless you <em>desire </em>your son,” I agree, wrinkling my nose. “So I guess I’m sticking with the boyfriend angle.”</p><p>            Moiz smirks. “How on earth will anyone buy that <em>you’re</em> gay?”</p><p>            He motions to today’s clothing choice; a black, spike-studded mini-dress, fishnet tights, and my trusty Docs.</p><p>            “Would a lesbian have these?” I counter, waving my acrylics.</p><p>            “A single one might,” he says. “Speaking of which, got your eye on anyone, ladykiller?”</p><p>            Stupid nickname. “Fuck off, E-Boy.”</p><p>            He laughs again, adjusts his beanie, then says, “Hopefully Sebastian doesn’t have too many lines. Mr. B’s got me stuffing my brain full of advanced functions already. Can’t believe you made me audition for this.”</p><p>            “It’s the essential gay high school experience. You gotta be either obnoxiously into Shakespeare or a theatre kid, and since you spent two of these years in the closet, we’re doubling up.” <em>And Daphne wanted to make sure she wasn’t the only one of our group doing it, since Izzie’s on tech crew again.</em></p><p>            Moiz groans. “Don’t blame me if I fuck up onstage and embarrass everybody.”</p><p>            “Oh, chin up. You’ll just be embarrassing yourself. Let’s go save Daphne, I think Bruno’s circling again.”</p><p>            Moiz scrambles to seal his thermos and pack away his lunch when I spring to my feet and cross the cafeteria to chase off the preppy twat that keeps bothering my sister. Once I insert myself between them and stare him down with my slightly-bloodshot eyes for a second, he gets the hint and backs off. For today.</p><p>            “What a tool,” I sigh, sliding into a seat next to my twin. Daphne winces. <em>Huh. If she’s not making excuses for him, he must’ve really annoyed her.</em> But before I get a chance to press the point that she should tell him to get lost for good, I notice who’s sitting across from me. “Oh, hey, you’re new, right?”</p><p>            Daphne and Izzie are sitting in the usual spot, but with them is a beautiful fat girl with honey-blond hair framing her heart-shaped face. I offer her a quick smile. “I’m Ivette, but everyone calls me I—” I narrowly avoid yelping in pain when Moiz grinds my toes into the floor with his converse. “—vee. Ivy. Fuck, dude.” I shoot him a dirty look.</p><p>            New Girl looks slightly concerned, but gives me a little wave. “I’m Heloise. My sister and I just moved here this year from Amsterdam—um, maybe you know my cousin? Corinne Feddersen?”</p><p>            <em>She’s Dutch!</em> I give her my sunniest smile. “Oh yeah, everyone knows Cory. She keeps winning us trophies.”</p><p>            Moiz gives me a look that says another toe-stomp is coming, so I chill a little. “Nice to meet you. Who’s your sister?”</p><p>            “Penn—er, Penelope,” she says, pointing across the cafeteria to another chubby girl whose wavy hair is a darker auburn colour.</p><p>            “Ooh, fuck,” Moiz mutters sympathetically.</p><p>            “What?” Heloise, blessedly innocent as she is, turns to him, blinking.</p><p>            Penelope is unfortunately in the clutches of Izzie’s brother Freddy and Baru-fucking-Tandon, the only guy at school that could challenge Bruno for ‘most annoying.’ “Yeah, Izzie, you may need to execute a rescue mission,” I remark.</p><p>            Izzie gives a pained sigh, then stands to go beat her brother away from the other new girl.</p><p>            “Did you audition for Twelfth Night?” Moiz asks before I get the chance to set up some kind of strategy to win over this cute newbie.</p><p>            “Oh, no, I’m… more a behind-the-scenes person,” she says shyly. “I was in my last school’s A/V club. Do you have one here?”</p><p>            “Yeah, tech crew,” I tell her. <em>Not a theatre kid? Strike one against her being into girls, I guess. Does tech crew count? Or does that just mean she’s gonna end up hopelessly in love with Mel? Or worse, Bellona…?</em></p><p>“You should talk to Izzie about that, actually, she’s ASM,” Daphne chimes in.</p><p>            “ASM?” She blinks.</p><p>            “Assistant stage manager, and won’t let us forget,” I answer. “I don’t envy her; the tech head scares the crap out of me.”</p><p>            “Didn’t you date her?” Daphne asks unhelpfully.</p><p>            I grit my teeth. “Briefly.”</p><p>As the unflattering saying goes, <em>Mel turns you gay then Ivy breaks your heart.</em> It would be really, super great if everyone didn’t immediately tell the new girl I’m bad news, because I’m <em>not</em>, just… unlucky, I guess. <em>Easily distracted,</em> my brain offers me. <em>Not girlfriend material. Having a very hard time seducing the only girl I’ve gotten stuck on.</em></p><p>            “Bruno’s back, seven o’clock,” Moiz warns us, but when I look up to send a death glare at him, I see her instead.</p><p>            Her dark eyes meet mine for a second, then she grabs her brother’s arm and disappears into the crowd of students by the caf’s cash register.</p><p>            “Saved by the Belle,” Daphne says suddenly, and bursts into laughter.</p><p>            I squint into the swarm of students, but still can’t catch sight of the baggy flannel and ripped jeans that might identify her. <em>Bellona Aiken. Sister of Bruno, Goddess of safety pins, and totally not interested.</em> I can’t help a groan.</p><p>            Moiz pats my head. “S’alright. You’ll completely screw it up with her one day.”</p><p>            <em>Thanks for the vote of confidence.</em> I frown at him, but then, remembering the new girl and her tech crew aspirations, my brain begins plotting. <em>Wait a minute. If I’m onstage being tragic and gay, and Belle’s backstage with nothing to do but watch…</em> Now <em>there’s</em> a reason to put on the performance of a lifetime. <em>I’ll make a trite lesbian romcom out of my life yet.</em> Visions of me dip-kissing her in the spotlight during bows float in my mind. <em>William Shakespeare, you old dog, you might just be my saviour.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Make Your Pleasure of Your Pains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello hello!</p><p>Welcome back to Twelfth Grade. I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter :) Thank you to the guest kudos &lt;3 I appreciate</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Leandro -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “If music be the food of love, play on,” I start, trying to fill the space with my voice like Mr. A said. “Give me excess of it.”</p><p>            We’re sitting in the mostly unfilled gym, thirteen high schoolers and two teachers sitting around six folding tables arranged in a square. Everyone’s got a photocopied stack of papers that make up their Twelfth Night script in front of them, the more industrious among us already flipping through a binder, with a couple of school-provided sharpened pencils for some yet-unspecified reason. I didn’t expect to need school supplies for this, so I’m armed with a loose collection of pages that I’m going to have to be careful to not disorder before I can put some kind of clip around them.</p><p>            “Enough, no more, ‘tis not so sweet now as it was before,” I finish, and Mr. A holds us his hand for me to stop, then hops over the table to stand in the middle of our little ring.</p><p>            “Thanks, Leandro! So! That’s the most famous monologue from Twelfth Night, and it’s also how it starts,” he says, slowly turning as he speaks to make eye contact with each of us. “It sets up the audience’s expectations nicely, right? A romance, lots of pretty flowers and music and stuff. And that is part of Twelfth Night, but there’s kind of another plot hiding underneath it.”</p><p>            <em>The Sir Toby stuff?</em> I try to remember our grade nine reading of it. Mostly, I remember Haze nerding out in the most adorable way and Mel trying to explain the plot to me forty-six times during my essay-writing attempt.</p><p>            “How many of you guys read Twelfth Night in grade nine?” he asks, casting his eyes over us. “Yeah, Leandro, Haiza, Ivette, Blaire, Julio, Isadora—okay, great! You guys will be our resident textperts then. I’ll quickly summarize it for everyone who didn’t get the chance to read it.”</p><p>            <em>All I remember about it is that there’s no chance you can summarize it quickly,</em> I think, exchanging a skeptical look with Haze, who’s sitting to my left.</p><p>            “When I say your character’s name, why don’t you stand up so we can all get acquainted?” Mr. A suggests. “Twelfth Night is a comedy by William Shakespeare that revolves around two people—Viola and Toby.”</p><p>            Haze makes a pained face and then stands. <em>C’mon, doesn’t she wanna do this? </em>So does Bruno.</p><p>            “And Blaire—er, you don’t need to stand,” the teacher says awkwardly as the girl waves from her wheelchair. “But Blaire will be our Toby understudy, and Penelope will be our Viola understudy!” A round, reddish-haired girl I don’t recognize stands. <em>Is that one of Cory’s cousins? She got them to audition too, right?</em> “Toby and Viola have the largest parts to shoulder, so that means lots of memorization for you four! Now, Toby and Viola are the main characters of their two different plots, and they only occasionally crash into each other. You three can sit down.”</p><p>            <em>Is it my turn?</em></p><p>            “The first story of Twelfth Night is about Orsino and Olivia.” Mr. A says and I spring to my feet. Cory stands on my right side, and I blow her a kiss, which Mr. A laughs at. “Exactly, Leandro. Duke Orsino is in love with Olivia, but she’s in mourning for her brother.” Cory pretends to wipe a tear, following my melodramatic lead. “So Orsino sends his new favourite servant, ‘Cesario,’ who is actually Viola in disguise,” he waves for Haze to stand, which she does with some coaxing, “to go read Olivia poetry and tell her how much Orsino loves her. But it backfires, and Olivia falls in love with ‘Cesario.’”</p><p>            This time, it’s Cory who blows the kiss at Haze, who laughs. I smile.<em> Glad she’s lightening up a bit. This Twelfth Night thing was her idea.</em> I’m also glad Cory seems into it, but she’s usually down for anything.</p><p>            “Now we’ve got one of the only examples of a <em>real</em> love triangle going on,” Mr. A says, “because Viola’s fallen in love with Duke Orsino.”</p><p>            I strike a pose, batting my eyelashes at Haze, who gives me an elbow-jab to the ribs for my trouble. <em>Not very romantic of her! </em>Still, it’s maybe a blessing that she’s not pretending to be in love with me or I’d probably embarrass myself.</p><p>            “So Viola’s in love with Orsino, who’s in love with Olivia, who’s in love with ‘Cesario’ aka Viola,” Mr. A explains, his smile brimming with glee. <em>Nerd</em>, I think, grinning at the teacher. “Quite a mess. Things only get more confusing when…” he whirls and points at Moiz, “Viola’s twin brother, Sebastian turns up.”</p><p>            Haze’s brother stands and I wonder if they cast him just because he and Haze are pretty indistinguishable without clues like his hair versus Haze’s hijab, plus fashion sense to go off of. Haze is, as usual, buried in her collection of scarves, which is doing nothing to combat the fact that she’s got liquid nitrogen in her veins. Moiz’s neck has only a couple silver chains. <em>Is that a bike lock?</em> “Sup.”</p><p>            “Sup indeed!” Mr. A declares. “Sebastian gets tracked down by one of Olivia’s servants, who Olivia ordered to go find ‘Cesario’ and bring to her. He and Olivia get married, Orsino finds out and thinks that Cesario has betrayed him, the twins are revealed, and then everyone gets married; Sebastian and Olivia stick together, and Orsino proposes to Viola.”</p><p>            <em>I knew it was ridiculously convoluted. </em>I do that little clamshell-hand to Haze like I’m proposing and she sticks her tongue out at me. <em>Just two goofy friends! Nothing weird about this.</em></p><p>            A bunch of people are left puzzled as to what their role is, and then everyone groans when Mr. A says, “Okay, so the <em>other</em> half of the play… oh, c’mon guys! It’s fun! So, Sir Toby, right?”</p><p>            Bruno stands again and I purse my lips. <em>Oh boy.</em></p><p>            “Loud, lecherous, drunk, and not super sensitive about his niece, Olivia’s, sudden loss of her brother,” Mr. A begins. “He’s brought this knight, Andrew Aguecheek,” Baru stands, already doing his annoying little smirk thing, “to come woo her. Toby’s real goal, though, is to get the wealthy Andrew to finance his nights out, and they party nonstop with Olivia’s clown, Feste,” Freddy stands, “much to the chagrin of,” he spins and points at Daphne, who stands, and then Julio, who, when Blaire touches his wrist, does as well, “Maria, the maid, and Malvolio, the steward. They have… slightly different relationships to Toby. Maria is in love with him and Malvolio hates his guts.”</p><p>            From the look my brother Jules is sending in Bruno’s general direction, I get the impression he might not have to act too much. I pity Daphne.</p><p>            “While Maria is a bit more tolerant of Andrew and Toby’s antics, Malvolio is super-not. He’s very principled and thinks they’re heathens,” Mr. A explains and Julio cracks a rare smile. I feel like he’s going to enjoy telling Bruno, Baru, and Freddy off. I almost envy him. “He interrupts their partying, calls them a bunch of mean stuff, and then storms off. Which is how plot number two gets kicked off! They want revenge, and Maria comes up with a plan. They write Malvolio a love letter in Olivia’s handwriting and leave it in the garden for him.”</p><p>            Cory actually gasps next to me and I turn sharply to grin at her. She mouths something at me, but I can’t read lips so I just continue to smile evilly. <em>Yes, Cory’s gonna have to deal with Julio pretending to fawn over her.</em></p><p>            “Malvolio,” he turns and snap-points at Julio, “is secretly in love with Olivia, or just wants to be a lord, or wants power over Toby. Up to you, Julio. He gets the letter, which is filled with crazy instructions for how to signal to Olivia that he returns ‘her feelings,’ and then follows it; dresses up crazily, makes dick jokes, and starts smiling like a maniac.”</p><p>            I think I detect a bit of embarrassment from my brother, and Cory certainly seems nonplussed.<em> Oh, this is going to be delightful.</em></p><p>            “Olivia’s a little bit busy being in love with Cesario though, so she sends Malvolio off to be taken care of by Toby and his gang, who pretty much torture him, and then the play ends,” Mr. A says. “Yeah. Oh, also, Toby and Maria run off together.”</p><p>            “Nice,” Bruno says, and Daphne forces the most plastic smile I’ve ever seen.</p><p>            “We’re going to read some of it today, and I want you guys to start thinking about your first characterization assignment,” he says. “I know, <em>homework</em>, but it’s fun! What I want you to do, once we finish reading it through, is write down one secret you think your character would never say out loud, okay? Pretty much everyone in Twelfth Night is motivated by their desire for power, or a beautiful lady, or food and wine, so it’s really important that you guys get a sense of who your character is in their heart.</p><p>            “Now let’s get this reading started!” he exclaims, and hops back over the table.</p><p>            <em>I want some of what he’s on,</em> I think, smothering a laugh at the caffeinated teacher and turning my attention back to the script in front of me.</p><p>            “If music be the food of love…” I begin again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Blaire -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            It only takes us two rehearsals to finish the reading. Mr. A doesn’t ask either Penelope or me to read any of our understudying-role, and she’s left with Curio, Valentine, and the sea captain, while I do Fabian.</p><p>            It’s then that Mr. A passes out little lined cue cards that we’re supposed to write our character’s ‘deep inner desire’ on, and then hide. Despite the teacher repeatedly telling us that we’re not supposed to tell or show anybody what we wrote, Bruno already bragged to me and Belle about how he wrote that Toby doesn’t <em>actually</em> love Maria. I felt equal parts grossed out and embarrassed, and as a weird kind of revenge, write:</p><p>            <em>Toby: he wishes he could give Maria a better life.</em></p><p>            I’m not quite sure what to do for Fabian; he wants to fit in, maybe? He certainly seems game with Toby and Maria’s scheming without much convincing. <em>Sure. I’ll give him a whole backstory about how he was bullied as a child,</em> I think, quickly scribbling it underneath. I slip it into my backpack, which dangles off my wheelchair handle, and then turn my attention back to Mr. A, who has taken centre ‘stage’ again.</p><p>            “Alright, everyone, are you guys done writing them? Remember, hide ‘em well. We’ve got a special guest today; Ms. Cary, our music director, is gonna be taking you guys through some warm-ups, and then you’ll be learning the songs in the text.”</p><p>            <em>Here we go,</em> I think. Everyone gets up with varying levels of enthusiasm; Freddy and Izzie practically prance over to the piano that Ms. Cary is wheeling in, while Julio’s older brother Leandro looks shy for the first time that I’ve ever seen, and Daphne is dragging Ivy over by her sister’s straightened, silver-dyed hair. Julio and I walk and wheel over, taking positions by the outer part of the horse-shoe we’ve formed. Other than occasionally rapping along under my breath to the music Belle blasts at all hours of the day, I haven’t sung since the auditions a week or two ago.</p><p>            “We’ll start with a warm-up,” Ms. Cary says crisply. “Then we’ll learn one of the songs from the play. Alright, follow my lead.”</p><p>            She plays a quick descending scale while following it with her voice, the notes sliding into each other. Half-heartedly, everyone repeats it after her. Well, I say half-heartedly because that’s what <em>most</em> people do. Freddy and Izzie are covering for us with their perfect pitches. <em>Stupid, spoiled, vocal-lesson-having Finns. No wonder Freddy’s Feste; he does most of the singing, doesn’t he?</em></p><p>            Undaunted, Ms. Cary does another scale, starting from higher up, and we all follow her again. I cough a little to clear my throat and try to summon some kind of yet-undiscovered voice talent.</p><p>            “Stand up straight!” Ms. Cary calls over the piano.</p><p>            <em>Yeah, thanks,</em> I snort and Julio shoots a wry look in my direction. Between Mr. A and Ms. Cary, whoever has the fewest fuck-ups relating to my disability by the end of the show gets a cookie. Still, I shift myself a little in my wheelchair so that my back’s a bit more straight and suck in a deep breath. Even though my voice blends into the mass of everyone else’s, I think I’m hitting the notes a little more accurately.</p><p>            She stops the scales after a few minutes of going up and down and adjusts her glasses. “Well, now that we’re warmed up, take one of the song booklets. There’s one for each of you but no spares, so don’t lose it.”</p><p>            “Ten steps in front on top of the piano,” I tell him, and Julio squeezes his way through the crowd of students to the stack of papers on the piano with his white cane moving back and forth like a metronome. His dark head sticks up above shorter students, rivalled only by Freddy’s own upsetting height. I’d have to crane my head all the way back to even get a look at their faces. <em>At least Jules doesn’t care if I don’t make eye contact,</em> I think. He returns with one and drops it into my lap.</p><p>            “Thanks,” I say, flipping through it. “Huh. Didn’t know Twelfth Night was a musical.”</p><p>            “Gotta do something to keep the cheap seats entertained, I guess,” Julio remarks, a sardonic edge to his voice. “My copy had the lyrics in it; does it have the instrumental written?”</p><p>            “Doesn’t look like it,” I say, and Julio nods, then turns around to go find his braille copy.</p><p>            When Ms. Cary opens her mouth to call Julio back, I give her a look and she closes her mouth, then redirects her attention to the other eleven students and says, “Most songs in Shakespeare’s plays were folk songs that the people watching the plays would know, but because everyone knew them, there were always a hundred different musical arrangements. So don’t go home and look up the songs because you’ll get a different version than the one we’re using. Let’s start with the last song in the play. You’ll all be singing this before the bows. Give it a listen.”</p><p>            She launches into some song about wind, rain, and a ‘little tiny boy.’ It jumps from note to note quickly, high and then descending low into Ms. Cary’s range, and repeats with different words three or four times. She finishes with a little flourish on the piano.</p><p>            Then she has us repeat each line after her, painfully slowly. When I hear Julio mumbling along, I threaten to poke him, which brightens up his voice a bit. We make it through, although I’m not convinced the audience won’t run out of the auditorium with their hands over their ears. Ms. Cary seems satisfied, which surprises me, but maybe Freddy and Izzie were close enough to her piano that they drowned us out. <em>If nothing else, we can put them to sleep with our Shakespeare, and then they won’t even hear the singing,</em> I decide, eternally optimistic. <em>And there’s nowhere to go but up.</em></p><p>            After rehearsal, Julio and I make our way out the back of the school, chatting. Julio was bad at small-talk for so long, but when I told him walking to the bus stop didn’t count, and that we didn’t have to make small-talk on the bus either because we’d be listening to an audiobook, he relaxed and just started talking normally. And that’s the story of how I tricked my best friend into chitchat. It’s the best time making small-talk that I have, anyway—Julio never gets annoyed or confused when I ask him to repeat something three times, and he doesn’t care or notice when my eyes jump around or roll unconsciously.</p><p>            “So, what’d you write for Fabian and Toby, Blaire?” he asks, pausing as we hit the bumpy edge of the sidewalk that signals the crosswalk.</p><p>            “It’s a secret,” I remind him, waiting for the light to turn, then wheel myself across.</p><p>            “Mr. A won’t ever know,” he snorts. “Besides, telling <em>one</em> person and telling the entire cast aren’t the same thing.”</p><p>            “I guess so,” I agree. “I wrote that Fabian wants to fit in and that Toby wishes he could give Maria a better life.”</p><p>            Julio laughs, one of his hoarse little chuckles. “Not quite the same as Bruno, then?”</p><p>            “Ugh, he told you too?”</p><p>            “Yeah, he decided to go for more of a ‘tell-the-whole-cast’ thing,” Julio answers wryly.</p><p>            “Let’s hope Mr. A doesn’t find out,” I comment. “Given how much he repeated that we weren’t supposed to tell anyone…”</p><p>            “He might throttle Bruno,” Julio finishes and gives me a real laugh. “That, I’d like to see.”</p><p>            “Same.” The mental image of our beanpole theatre teacher jumping on my brother and squeezing his neck makes me grin. “What’d you put for Malvolio?”</p><p>            “That I want to kill Bruno,” Julio says conversationally. “Oh, here’s the bus.”</p><p>            As we wait for the driver to flip out the ramp, Julio queues up <em>Zima Blue</em> and offers me an earbud. I settle in for a sci-fi bus ride.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Penelope -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I don’t look like an Indian e-boy.</p><p>            That’s never been a problem until today, but… life’s full of surprises, I guess. As I trudge home (I’m pretty sure the school admin lost my bus pass and Heloise refused to let me double-tap hers), I look at the pale face reflected in the rain puddles. <em>Viola, huh?</em> Lucky me, I guess. I thought Canada would be kind of… shit. But Corinne’s about as friendly as I remember from Thanksgiving, this theatre thing she and Heloise twisted my arm into seems fine, and some of the boys are seriously cute. <em>Dunno if the audience will buy that I’m that Moiz guy’s twin, but… with my luck, I probably won’t be in any of the shows.</em></p><p>            I was on my way to a starring role at my old school; Heloise was in A/V, and I was sucking up to the drama teacher… and now we’re suffering in a Toronto autumn. I kick a pinecone out of my path, and sigh. <em>But, you know, when life gives you lemons…</em> The vine plays in my head and I bop my head along to the silent jingle, then decide I’d rather listen to actual music than rain and stale memes. An earbud goes in, and I ignore the world for the rest of the walk home.</p><p>            To Corinne’s home, anyway. The basement and the twin beds that Auntie Alice and Aunt Kayla set up, and Corinne’s old hockey gear: <em>Home, sweet home.</em> My thoughts drift back to the new school and the play. <em>Maybe I can run lines with that guy. Baru? That’s what he said his name was, right?</em> Before that ice-goddess-looking-girl swanned over to drag me to Corinne and Heloise. <em>She’s gorgeous too. And can sing better than most of the cast, it sounded like…</em> I wince again, thinking of the discordant mess of a dozen or so high schoolers mumbling along to Elizabethan folks songs. <em>Maybe not being in it would be a boon, if I don’t have to warble through that shitshow.</em></p><p>            Whatever. I’m not really looking for new friends, or hobbies, <em>or </em>a boyfriend, no matter how cute certain Canadian theatre kids might be. My team’s on tonight.</p><p>            The second I get home, I slide into the crappy chair Auntie Alice helped me bring down. Had to pick between my monitor, keyboard, or chair, and… look, rainbow-backlit keys are half the gaming experience. At least my parents didn’t hassle me over the C.P.U.; there’s no way Aunt Kayla’s old brick of a computer could run Internet Explorer, let alone any of the games I play. Mine warms up like a cat purring, the fan whirring to life and the elderly monitor flickering on.</p><p>            Within a few minutes, a Spotify tab’s open and synced to my earbuds, Discord’s alive and updating me on what kind of bizarre conversations my friends had while I was gone, and League is loading up. No more Shakespeare, no more new school, no more divorcing parents, just me and the rainbow-backlit keys.</p><p>            The next rehearsal is a week later, and heralds the beginning of small-group text reading. Which is hell on earth. I’m not so lucky as to be put with the cute guy I scoped out the first week, <em>or</em> Heloise or Corinne. Instead, the possibly-coked-up theatre teacher herds me and four other strangers off into a corner of the gym, and instructs us to start reading and trading off parts as we go.</p><p>            “So! Who wants to do Orsino?” The tallest boy I think I’ve seen is the first to speak. He’s… hard to look directly at; bright white skin, orange man-bun, electric pink shirt, and way too enthusiastic for three p.m. on a Tuesday. “I’m Fredrik Hämäläinen, by the way.” He directs a Colgate-smile at me.<em> Hamawhatnow…?</em></p><p>            “Shut up, Freddy, we know who you are,” the other tall boy grunts, brushing his finger over the page of an enormous copy of the play.</p><p>            “<em>She</em> doesn’t. What’s your name?”</p><p>            I don’t like feeling like a shy fourth grader than some wannabe-popular-girl is trying to coax out of her shell, but my mouth dries under his intense stare. “I’m… Penelope.”</p><p>            “Penelope,” he nods, then points at the bad-tempered guy and says, “that’s Julio. Playing Malvolio.”</p><p>            ‘Julio’ rolls his dark, hazelish eyes, and they kind of… don’t stop moving. His left eye drifts like he’s staring at something way off to his left while his right wanders over me. He says, “I’m legally blind, both eyes, don’t ask me how many fingers you’re holding up.”</p><p>            “Oh! Uh… okay…” I dart another look at his unfocused gaze, taking in his high cheekbones and chewed bottom lip, then look for the only other slightly-familiar face in our group. “You’re Moiz, right?”</p><p>            “Yeah.” Moiz, who I’m guessing is the older brother of Baru, sits up from his half-reclined position against the concrete gym wall, then grabs my hand quickly before letting it go. I blink. <em>Was that a handshake?</em> “You and your sister just came over from… Germany?”</p><p>            “Netherlands. We’re cousins of Corinne,” I explain for the fortieth time this week.</p><p>            “Right, right. Ivy’s… nevermind. Well, then you know who I am, and that’s Bruno.”</p><p>            Bruno is scowling, his nose scrunched up and shifting the lense-less glasses he’s wearing. He looks really out of place in a pink-dotted button down and brown slacks, squatting on the dusty floor of a high school gym. Maybe better suited to scowling at first year university students from his place as TA of some liberal arts course. I’m guessing from his too-cool-for-this aloofness that he’s in twelfth grade.</p><p>            “Hi,” I offer. He seems unreceptive. <em>Okay, then…</em></p><p>            “Right! Orsino, who’s up?” Freddy repeats. Everyone’s silent. “Great, I’ll do it.”</p><p>            That pretty much sets the tone for the whole reading. Julio steps up to do Malvolio when his character shows up, and Bruno is eager to read for Toby and occasionally Antonio. Freddy’s Maria-voice makes my eyes water as I try not to laugh. Don’t want to sound like a dying gerbil in front of people I just met. Julio and Bruno are markedly less amused, probably because they have to do a scene with her, and Moiz is happy to fill in wherever we’re missing a role. Honestly, it’s not as bad as I worried; either they’re all great at sight-reading or native English speakers are also native in Ye Olde Bullshit Language. I try not to stumble too much, and Freddy and Moiz at least are sympathetic. Julio just seems tired, and I’m pretty sure Bruno already hates me.</p><p>            It winds down eventually, and as Bruno informs me that his character’s secret desire is that Toby doesn’t actually love Maria, I suddenly remember I didn’t do my ‘homework.’ I pack away my script, wave to Moiz and Freddy, and then start contemplating Viola while listening to an early RTC album. Bus pass is probably still jammed in a crevice of the offensively-beige main office, which means I’m walking again.</p><p>            <em>So she thinks her brother’s dead, and then immediately dresses up like a guy?</em> I consider my own arrival in Canada. <em>Well, I’m not exactly throwing on a hoodie and sweats. If he saw me now, Dad would probably say something about how I’m conforming to beauty standards, and then Mum would shout at him. </em>Pressing my lips together, I feel the last of the gloss I put on this morning. <em>Or maybe I’m Viola, just putting on a different kind of armour. Fuck, this is so stupid. Just because I curl my hair sometimes doesn’t mean I’m faking a front for some nefarious gain.</em></p><p>            I kick another pinecone. <em>Why are these everywhere?! Then again, I guess Viola kind of did it for survival. Shit must’ve been hard back then for women, especially if you didn’t have a family. I’d probably do something really stupid if I thought Heloise was dead too. Maybe she’s just trying to keep her head out of the water.</em> Does that count as a secret desire?<em> To survive? And to bone Orsino. Wow, what deep and intricate motivations.</em></p><p>            <em>I’ll come up with something later.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Julio -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            I want to kill Bruno. I know I wrote it down, but let’s be completely clear. If he and I are alone and there’s a swingable shovel and a nearby flowerbed, he’ll be six feet under faster than you can say ‘Zounds.’ That’s a little Shakespeare joke, from me to you; it means ‘Zeus’s wounds.’ Probably Hera-inflicted.</p><p>I was really into Percy Jackson when I was like ten, okay?</p><p>            I’ve had shit luck with books lately, actually. Not enough to make me give in and let Blaire put on whatever new romcom-beach-read-fuckery she’s cooked up this week on the bus, but… luck bad enough that I actually end up flipping through my Twelfth Night script at my desk before dinner. I can’t decide what’s more inconvenient; lugging around this piece of rebar masquerading as a book, or trying to jump to the exact right point in the audiobook to find my lines.</p><p>            <em>What think you of this fool Malvolio, doth he not mend?</em></p><p><em>            Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.</em> I scowl. <em>The fuck does that mean?</em> The next Malvolio scene is a marked improvement, I... think? But I’m pretty confident I can detect exhausted sarcasm at this point. He’s basically just being snarky about being forced to act like a butler. <em>Is a steward a butler?</em></p><p>            <em>What kind of man is he?</em></p><p>
  <em>            Why, of mankind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>            What manner of man?<br/>            Of very ill manner.</em>
</p><p>            If Blaire and I were about four hundred years older, this actually sounds like a conversation we would have. But I guess I won’t have any scenes with her unless she makes good on her promise to confiscate her brother’s kneecaps. Nope, I’ll be snarking at Cory. And also… I grimace, remembering Malvolio’s eventual fate. <em>How the hell am I supposed to wear some stupid costume and start making all those… uh, insinuations in front of everyone? It’ll be so embarrassing.</em> And if Blaire could also stop bringing up my very cringey, two-month crush on her... <em>It’s not even fair, since she’s so shameless about her Daphne-thirst. How am I supposed to tease her back?</em></p><p>            Speaking of.</p><p>            “Julio, dinner,” Leandro’s muffled voice comes from my closed door. I purse my lips.</p><p>            “Yep, coming.”</p><p>            <em>Not to mention the Bruno situation.</em> On second thought, I hope Blaire does go all mafia on him. Might make this whole thing two percent more bearable.</p><p>            At dinner, Mom’s practically tripping over herself to ask about the play. “Have you guys read it all yet? Are you memorizing your lines? Haiza must be excited, Leandro!”</p><p>            I bite my fork to avoid answering for him. <em>Yup, Haiza is over the moon to be Shakespeare-flirting with Lee. Which he might be able to tell if he paid literally any attention to anything ever.</em></p><p>            “Yeah, she is! I think it’s going good. Cory’s doing it too, and she actually got a really big part. I’m sure there’s loads of time to memorize, though. Mr. A said the show’s in January.”</p><p>            “Did you get a haircut, Mom?” Our sister, Mel, is the only one of us noticing anything as usual. I think my excuse is slightly better than Leandro’s, though.</p><p>            “I did! What do you think?”</p><p>            “It looks great,” I volunteer brightly.</p><p>            “Shut up, Jules.” Lee elbows me and I inhale a grain of rice, and start coughing. “It actually does look nice, Mom.”</p><p>            “Thank you both,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Julio, how are you finding the play?”</p><p>            <em>By the C hallway.</em> “It’s fine so far. Bruno is… really annoying.”</p><p>            Mel makes a noise of agreement. “I don’t envy you.”</p><p>            “I thought you liked Bruno!” Mom chimes in.</p><p>            “I <em>tried</em>,” Mel groans. “Belle got hella defensive whenever I bitched about him.”</p><p>            “Don’t swear at the table.”</p><p>            “Sorry, Mom. Whenever I talked about how fucking annoying he is. But it’s literally impossible. There is nothing likeable about Bruno Aiken.”</p><p>            “Izzat why you broke up?” Leandro asks through a mouthful of stir fry.</p><p>            “Partly.” She gets that defensive edge in her voice, and Lee takes his cue to drop it.</p><p>            “You’ll get to order Bruno around though, right? Once tech starts up?” I point out. “Like ‘Back up until you hit the wall, then walk off the stage.’”</p><p>            “I think there are limits to my power,” Mel replies primly.</p><p>            “Buuuullshit,” Lee laughs. “When you got made tech head, you said, and <em>I quote</em>—”</p><p>            “I meant—”</p><p>            “<em>And I quote</em>, ‘No one and nothing can stop me now! The grade nines will tremble before me, I will have full control over the entire death trap backstage, and I will create the greatest show ever beheld by anyone this side of the pond! I am all-powerful!’” Lee tosses in a cackle.</p><p>            “I was <em>excited</em>,” Mel bites off. “And I definitely didn’t sound like the Wicked Witch of the West on helium.”</p><p>            “Okay, relax,” Mom intervenes. “Leandro, don’t tease your sister. Hermelinda, I’m sure you and tech crew will make it a great show. Do you have any new recruits?”</p><p>            “Mm, one of the Dutch exchange students signed up.”</p><p>            “She’s not a Dutch exchange student,” Leandro corrects. “She’s Cory’s cousin. Er, which cousin is it? Heloise or Penelope?”</p><p>            “Heloise. She dots her i’s with hearts.” Mel sounds vaguely amused. “First tech meeting’s not for another couple of weeks. What are the Dutch like? Subservient? Fast learners?”</p><p>            “Tall,” I offer. That should get Mel going. At six feet, she’s still the shortest of the three of us. Tied for last at least; she and Lee are the same height if you ask her. I think we’ve all got a big of a thing about our heights; Lee’s on the basketball team, so I guess that’s not a surprise. My height’s probably the only part of myself I’m really proud of—after becoming a dude, anyway, I’m proud of it. Transitioning probably also saved my spine since I slouched to hell and back until I realized that a guy being six three got far fewer judgy stares from strangers. And then Mel… I dunno, likes to intimidate people.</p><p>            Sure enough, Mel snorts. “Cory’s <em>tall</em>, and she’s five-nine. Anyway, I don’t care what she looks like. Hopefully she can learn on the job, or at least stay out of my way.”</p><p>            <em>I bet she’ll care what you look like, though. Do they have homosexuals in the Netherlands? Shouldn’t take long.</em> If you’re wondering, yes, it is actually <em>super</em> gross to be the brother of someone who literally has a reputation for turning girls gay with a single stare. Doesn’t mean I won’t laugh when this Heloise kid is tripping over herself around Mel, though. <em>Well, if Mel gets to make Bruno’s life hell, and Heloise makes Mel’s life hell, and Blaire shuts up about Daphne for more than four seconds at a time… this could be the most decent year since I was too young to be clinically depressed.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think!</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Unfold the Passion of my Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can you believe we’re a quarter through? Let us join some new characters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <strong>- Fredrik -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            <em>Checkmate, homophobes,</em> I think, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms behind my head.</p><p>            Let me explain what I mean.</p><p>            Isn’t their whole thesis that it’s a deviancy born of bad choices? If I had a business card, ‘Makes bad choices’ would be printed at the top instead of my name. Mostly because a business card isn’t big enough to fit <em>Fredrik ‘Freddy’ Valtteri Hämäläinen</em>. But my point is that I’m well-acquainted with impulsive, hedonistic choices, and trust me when I say, my ‘homosexual urges’ are not a choice.</p><p>            “Ha!” Baru exclaims, slapping his older brother’s wooden sword out of his hands. Mr. A dashes over to reprimand him.</p><p>            <em>Because if it was a choice I wouldn’t have a thing for the worst human person alive.</em> I pretend to study the edge of the stage as Baru looks over at me. <em>I’d pick someone normal and hot and straight like Leandro. Not… my asshole friend.</em></p><p>Correct! I did not stutter! I have spent the better part of the last year unwillingly obsessed with one of my best friends, Baru-goddamn-Tandon, five feet and three inches of misplaced confidence and dick jokes, and I am <em>furious</em>. It took a few weeks to acknowledge that staring at him and finding excuses to touch him and actually encouraging him to be less of a dick and daydreaming about him instead of Colin Jost—to acknowledge that all <em>that</em> was perhaps not a result of the next level of friendship.</p><p>            Unfortunately, ‘realizing you have a problem’ is the step that I’ve gotten stuck on. My train of thought plummets into the Caspian sea as Baru struggles to yank his crewtop over his head, and I start flipping through my script, not looking at him. Looking at anything but him, really. And his stupid polo. Those polos are horrendous. Actually, the leather jacket is worse. <em>He probably thinks it makes him look really cool. Like a sixties greaser. Next he’ll be gelling his hair. And then we’ll really be in it.</em> I swallow hard. <em>C’mon, now, Freddy. Music rehearsal is in like half an hour. You can make it. </em>And I affix my attention to the script again. <em>Come away, come away death, and in sad cypress…</em> Ms. Cary sent me home with the sheet music the rehearsal before last to prepare it for today.</p><p>            Instead of thinking about how he’s probably out of breath from the stage-combat drills Mr. A is running them through, I start mumbling Feste’s lines under my breath. Before I know it, it’s like I can actually <em>hear</em> him breathing right in front of me.<br/>            “Freddy! What the hell, bro?”</p><p>            I jerk up, snapping shut my script like it’s incriminating, and pin my gaze to the spot between his eyes. Direct eye contact usually isn’t good for my sanity. “Hey, done fighting?”</p><p>            He cracks his knuckles. “Yeah, <em>Moiz</em> is done.”</p><p>            “Looks like you did a number on him,” I observe, eyeing the still-perfectly-groomed grade twelve as he hops off the stage and goes to greet Ivette. <em>Even Moiz would be a better choice, brain. Then again, Baru would fuckin’ flip if I tried to date his brother. </em>“Music rehearsal now?”</p><p>            “Yeah, dude, Ms. Cary’s been shouting at us for like ten minutes. Are you deaf?”</p><p>            Now I hear the music teacher. “Nope, just… thinkin’ my thoughts.” I shove my script into my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and stand. My bones do their little snap-crackle-pop, and I stretch out my arms. “C’mon.”</p><p>            Because apparently I can’t catch a break today, once we’re all somewhat warmed up, Ms. Cary calls me up immediately to do Feste’s little mournful song. Luckily, Mr. A slides in to deliver a sermon about it which gives me a minute to steel myself for singing in front of a dozen high schoolers.</p><p>            “In this scene, which you guys should’ve read together in your small groups, Feste sings Come Away Death to Orsino and Viola. It’s a very… forlorn song, because it comes at a time in the play where Viola’s begun to give up hope. This is the part of the comedy that’s supposed to tug on the audience’s heartstrings a bit,” Mr. A says, leaning across the piano to me. “So Freddy, no pressure, I know you only started learning this a couple weeks ago.”</p><p>            <em>Is that a challenge?</em></p><p>            Ms. Cary clinks through the intro, much slower than I practiced it, and as I launch into it, I feel my voice shiver with vibrato on each stretched-out note. “And in sad cypress, let me be laid.” Just as I’m drawing a breath to start the second verse, Ms. Cary stops and I make a half-aborted note.<em> Shit.</em></p><p>            “Very nice, Freddy!” Mr. A’s eyes practically glow. I get a smatter of applause from my classmates and I realize perhaps <em>slightly</em> too late that I should’ve done it less… seriously, maybe. To compensate, I grin.</p><p>            “Next time I’ll bring my harp and we can make it <em>beautiful</em>, darling.” From the reaction I get, I’m pretty sure most of everyone thinks I’m joking. <em>Poor fools, don’t you know that I’ve played almost every instrument for a week and then immediately given it up because I can’t commit?</em> Harp and accordion were the closest I ever got to sticking with it.<em> Hmmm, I wonder if one of the other songs would sound good with an accordion.</em></p><p>            I peel myself off the piano before anyone starts dwelling on the sorts of emotions that were drudged up in my voice, and slide into a folding chair next to Baru on the outskirts of the cast.</p><p>            “What’d you think?”</p><p>            Baru rolls his eyes at me. “Man, you already know you’re a great singer. If I were you, though, I would’ve taken a smaller breath between…”</p><p>            I tune him out. “Mhmm.” That’s probably why most people find Baru annoying; he <em>loves</em> to offer his opinion on everything everyone’s ever done, regardless of how much actual expertise he has in the area. I tolerate it though, because I know he doesn’t do it to be annoying, just can’t help himself.</p><p>            “It sounded good, though,” he finishes.</p><p>            “Thanks.” I wasn’t planning it, but most of my ideas come from ill-advised spontaneity, so I just run with it; “Hey, you wanna check out that bubble tea place that opened up on Second after this?”</p><p>            Baru is nonplussed. “Bubble tea?”</p><p>            “Yeah, you know, the stuff with the little orbeez-shit in it. It’s like a smoothie.”</p><p>            “I know what bubble tea is.”</p><p>            “Then why’d—”</p><p>            “I don’t—why the hell d’you want bubble tea?” His nose scrunches up. <em>Cute. Shut up, Freddy.</em></p><p>            “I dunno. Just wanna try it out. Look, man, if you’re scared everyone’s gonna think you’re a fruity-gay now you can wear a ski mask.”</p><p>            Baru flushes darker. “I’m not—shut up. You seriously want to go get bubble tea after rehearsal?”</p><p>            “Yeah, why not? When’s the last time you ate a piece of fruit?”</p><p>            Ms. Cary shoots us a stink-eye as she starts to take us through the song we’re apparently going to use to open the play. Baru’s still putting up a fight, but he lowers his voice.</p><p>            “Fuck are you, my mom?”</p><p>            “Just looking out for you, man.” Then I shut my mouth because <em>That was way too far</em>, but Baru shrugs.</p><p>            “Yeah, alright.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Daphne -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I’m surprised by the number of Shakespeare musicals.</p><p>            I guess I shouldn’t be, at this point. Last year, when we did history, I’m pretty sure I only passed the test on England because of Six.<em> Heart of Stone</em> still has a place of honour in my ‘Greatest Musical Tracks of All Time’ playlist. The memory of trying to sing it at my audition might have ruined it forever, but the point is, it kind of seems like there’s a musical for everything under the sun. It’s exciting to think that a whole new subgenre of Shakespeare-inspired musicals might open up to me now that I know the first thing about the Bard himself.</p><p>            All I really remembered about Shakespeare before auditioning for this was Freddy playing Nick Bottom in our class reading of Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the absurd voice he insisted on putting on when Bottom was in donkey mode. Other than that… my brain refuses to grasp the finicky language. <em>Guess I won’t get so lucky as to find a whole Twelfth Night musical, though.</em> Something Rotten is good enough for now.</p><p>            “Daphne?” Mr. A’s calling my name. <em>Oh, shoot, has he been trying to get my attention?</em> Rehearsal just finished, and I was flipping through my dying phone’s YouTube recommendations to see if there was something new to listen to while I get my stuff ready to go. I yank out my earbuds at lightning speed and stand.</p><p>            “Sorry, Mr. A! Didn’t hear you,” I gasp.</p><p>            “Hey, no worries, I just wanted to make sure you got this.” He passes me a slip of paper. “Cory and Bruno’s emails, if you guys want to sort out a time to run lines outside of rehearsal. No pressure, but if you want to be extra prepared.”</p><p>            He gives me one of his corny winks, and then heads off with a fistful of paper slips, presumably for everyone else and their scene partners. <em>Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that,</em> I think, staring at the little black type spelling out ‘cfedd3’ and ‘baike3.’ <em>Great. Two terrifying grade twelves, one of which is hitting on me, according to Ivy.</em> I was pretty excited to land a big role like Maria, since I’m a measly grade eleven without much theatre experience, other than the like, four acting classes I took when I was ten. But apparently it’s going to mean acting like I’m on the same level as Corinne and Bruno, which I’m… abjectly not. <em>Abjectly? Is that a word?</em></p><p>            “Hey!”</p><p>            I turn to see Blaire, Bruno’s younger sister waving to me from a couple chairs down. She’s just as bright-eyed and peppy as I remember from the two session of the failed Dungeons and Dragons club last year. I smile when I see her; she’s got good energy, from what I remember.</p><p>            “Blaire, right?” I stand, grab my bag, and shift down to sit next to her. She’s moved her own backpack onto her lap to start stuffing her script in.</p><p>            “And you must be Dpomm4.” She holds up her slip between two fingers, before tossing it into the bag as well.</p><p>            “Daphne,” I say, and she grins. It’s so wide and bright that I can’t help smiling too. “Pommier.”</p><p>            “Oui, oui,” Blaire answers, then squishes her lips together, widening her eyes like it slipped out by accident.</p><p>            “You speak french?”</p><p>            “Er, nope.” Her dark eyes widen more, nearly guilty, then she gives me an easy smile. “You’re playing Maria, right?”</p><p>            “Yeah.”</p><p>            “Congratulations! She’s cool, isn’t she?”</p><p>            “I’m… I dunno, I didn’t read Twelfth Night in grade nine,” I admit, then redden a little and, under my breath, confess, “And I wasn’t really paying attention when we did the text readings last week.”</p><p>            Blaire grins, and knits one of her fingers into her afro of curly black hair. “Yeah, me neither. But I think that’s just cos Bruno’s got like half the lines in the play and my brain shuts off every time he speaks.”</p><p>            A helpless laugh escapes me. “Isn’t he your brother?”</p><p>            “Bother,” she corrects. It’s the corniest, oldest joke ever, and it still gets a snort out of me. “Hey, listen, I’m the Toby understudy so you’re basically my major scene partner, right?”<br/>            <em>She’s in grade ten and she was cast as the understudy of the biggest part in the show?</em> I blink. “Wow, you’re Toby? That’s a big part, isn’t it?”</p><p>            “Huge,” she agrees. “And I have the memory of a dead goldfish, so you’re gonna have to run lines with me, okay?”</p><p>            “Oh! Yeah, sure, I can do that!” I try not to sound too enthusiastic, but the prospect of replacing intimidating, possibly-trying-to-date-me Bruno Aiken with his more amiable sister is a giant relief. <em>Now just don’t start info-dumping about Hadestown or Six, and we’ll be golden.</em> “Here, I’ll give you my number. I’m too scared to check my email; Mr. Adigi sends like sixty google classroom posts every day.”</p><p>            “You’re taking Humanities?” Blaire’s eyes light up.</p><p>            “What? Oh, yeah, uh… I had a spare elective and I thought it would be fun,” I say, not sure why I’m suddenly hesitant. <em>Because if you open this can of worms you’re going to start spouting off about your life calendar and becoming a human rights lawyer and probably also every musical you’ve ever listened to for good measure.</em></p><p>            “Cool!” she agrees. “I wanna take it next year too.”</p><p>            “It’s October,” I tease. “Are you seriously planning your courses a year in advance?”</p><p>            She shrugs, and I think I detect a russet tinge in her dark brown cheeks. “So what? I’m a planner.”</p><p>            “I—I meant—” I bite my lip. “No, I think it’s cool. I mean—smart. Nevermind. Here’s my number.”</p><p>            I take the slip of paper from her—<em>Her hands are so warm!—</em>and quickly scribble down my number. “Text me or I’ll have a heart attack.”</p><p>            “What?!”</p><p>            “I mean—I meant don’t call me,” I amend. <em>Get it together, girl,</em> Ivy’s voice rings in my head. Well, it’s her fault for stealing all the smoothness with girls in the family. <em>Not that I’m trying to flirt. Because I don’t know her, even if she is super pretty. And I’m still talking to her, so stop staring and say something. C’mon brain. </em>“Text me first. Sorry. Uh. I’ll see you next week. Or I’ll talk to you if you call me. But text me first. Bye!”</p><p>            And I power walk off before I dig my hole deeper. Given that particularly stupid word-spaghetti, I’m pretty sure I’ve hit the centre of the earth. <em>What’s going on with me?</em> I chew on my lip as I hurry out of the gym. <em>Well, guess it’s good to know that I’m just as awkward around grade tens as I am around grade twelves.</em></p><p>My phone buzzes and I split-screen between YouTube and the Messages app to check the notification.</p><p>            <em>hey im texting u so now i can call u whenever</em></p><p>I smile to myself and set the contact, then return to YouTube. <em>Or… wait, is there a Twelfth Night musical?! Shaina Taub, huh…</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Baru -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            Ten minutes into bubble tea and he gives me a look like he doesn’t know who I am.</p><p>            I try to ignore Freddy and slurp on the peach bubble tea he strong-armed me into. Turn of phrase; his arms are more like straws in both colour (white broken up with bits of red freckles) and shape (skinny as fuck). Even though I went along with this whole weird proposition, Freddy’s hardly spoken a word. Another turn of phrase; as usual, he can’t shut up, but he’s hardly saying anything of actual substance. More like a weird sort of buzz of his own stream of consciousness.</p><p>            “How’s yours?” I finally ask, motioning to the in-theory-lychee-flavoured sludge in his plastic cup. It’s a really appealing shade of watery mustard.</p><p>            “Absolutely terrible!” Freddy finally smiles, one of his normal cheshire-cat, I’m-trying-to-crack-my-face-open grins, and somehow it sets me at ease. “We’ll have to come back and try the rest of the flavours.”</p><p>            “Hell no,” I groan. I don’t want someone walking by and recognizing me; this place is way too cutesy. Going back again is just asking for trouble. The little art of the cartoon cats drinking tea on the walls is adorable though. Which I would die before saying out loud.</p><p>            “Then at least lemme try yours?” His brown eyes, possibly the only non-neon part of him, get round like a puppy’s.</p><p>            I’m immediately suspicious. Normally he wouldn’t ask; many of my lunches have narrowly escaped their fate at Freddy’s hands by me speedily swiping them away from him. I swear he’s got some hidden compartment or something. No one can be <em>that </em>hungry all the time. Apparently, though, today he’s decided to actually ask for permission. “Not gonna try to grab it out of my hands?”</p><p>            Freddy looks a little insulted. “I wouldn’t.”</p><p>            <em>Yes, you would, and you have.</em> I eye him. <em>I’m definitely not going crazy, though, he’s acting weird.</em> And I’m loath to admit it, but it makes me nervous too. Look, I’m not stupid; I know Freddy’s kind of too cool for me, and while I’m not going to go kiss his crocs for <em>deigning</em> to hang out with me, when he suddenly starts acting really weird my brain immediately jumps to the worst possible conclusions. <em>He’s tired of me. He noticed he could have way cooler friends. He realized that—nope, nope, because if he knew that he wouldn’t just be acting weird, he would never speak to me again.</em></p><p>            “C’mon, just a little sip,” he wheedles.</p><p>            “Don’t drink half of it,” I grumble, passing him the drink and quickly averting my eyes.</p><p>            “So you <em>do </em>like it!” Triumph lights his face and, mercifully, he bypasses the straw and pops off the lid instead to just drink directly from cup. Aaaaaand sure enough, guzzles down most of it.</p><p>“Fuck’s sake, Freddy.” I grab for it, but without even pausing his drinking, he swerves out of the way. We’re in a booth, because I insisted on steering him away from the window seats, which means as I lean forward to try to retrieve my drink before it’s gone, I land halfway on the table. <em>Great.</em> “Shit.”</p><p>            He puts a hand on my shoulder to kind of push me back into my seat, and I yank away real quick. Freddy looks a little caught off guard, and quickly sets my drink down. “Hey, chill, if I knew you were gonna jump me I wouldn’t have… uh…” Freddy vaguely gestures to my pillaged drink.</p><p>            “Wouldn’t’ve chugged the whole goddamn thing?”</p><p>            “I left you some of the boba!”</p><p>            “Because you don’t like it.”</p><p>            “How would you know? Perhaps I’m just a kind, generous person.”</p><p>            “You literally positioned your straw like a fuckin’ microbiologist for every sip just to avoid them!” I exclaim.</p><p>            One nearly-nonexistent ginger brow raises and I suddenly wish I’d played dumb. “Perceptive.”</p><p>            “Why the hell did you want to get bubble tea if you don’t like boba?” Time to change the topic from how closely I was or wasn’t studying the way he drank tea.</p><p>            “Never know until you try.” He shrugs.</p><p>            “And yet you wanna come back and try every flavour?”</p><p>            “How do those contradict each other? Maybe I’ll like non-lychee flavoured boba.”</p><p>            “The boba itself isn’t the flavoured—oh, forget it.” I shake my head. “You’re acting weird, man, what’s going on?”</p><p>            Freddy’s eyes widen and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks guilty. “What? Nothing. Just felt a little… uh, weird after singing like that in front of everybody.”</p><p>            <em>Is he seriously fishing for compliments again?</em> Complimenting him on anything feels risky these days. “Ah, shut up. You sounded great.”</p><p>            He shrugs, suddenly completely at ease once more. “Yup. And I’d sound even better with my harp.”</p><p>            “Mr. A’s gonna have a hernia.”</p><p>            “Naw, that dude’s wack, he’d love it.”</p><p>            “Okay, <em>Ms. Cary’s </em>gonna have a hernia.”</p><p>            “Entirely possible.”</p><p>            I grin, and for a sec it feels like everything normal. Then Freddy’s eyes do that thing they’ve been doing lately, where they nearly unfocus. Like he’s looking right through me. A flicker of a frown twitches at the edge of my face, but I try to play it cool. I guess someone upstairs is looking out for me, because the awkwardness that’s ready to swoop in if we stay silent for another second is chased off when Freddy’s phone buzzes.</p><p>            “Ah, ‘sup Bruno?”</p><p>            <em>Oh shit, not him.</em> Bruno Aiken is possibly the human incarnation of all insecurities I have around my friendship with Freddy. For one, he’s older than both Freddy and I and I’m already younger than Freddy by a year. And second, <em>much</em> cooler than me. Or maybe just taller, it’s hard to tell. All I know is that I feel like a little kid and also an idiot when I stand next to him. Especially if Freddy’s nearby.</p><p>            “Oof,” Freddy says sympathetically into his phone. “Yeah. Shiiiit, dude, good luck with that.”</p><p>            Great, and now it’s like I’m not even here.</p><p>            “Well, lemme know how it goes.” Then he pulls the phone from his ear and ends the call with his thumb. Bet it doesn’t bother Bruno when he doesn’t say bye.</p><p>            “What was that about?” I try to sound disinterested. Failing that, I swirl the straw around the rejected boba left in my cup.</p><p>            “Nothing, really.” Freddy squirrels his phone away, back into some crevice of his bright yellow raincoat. “Aiken tries and fails to lose his virginity, part four hundred and seventy.”</p><p>            “What, four-sixty-nine wasn’t his lucky number?”</p><p>            Freddy cackles. “Nice.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> - Haiza -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “No, it’s ‘I pray you sir’ first.” Bruno takes off his aesthetic glasses to rub his nose impatiently, a gesture I suspect he’s enjoying way too much.</p><p>            “Right, sorry,” I mutter. Mr. A gives me the four hundredth encouraging nod this rehearsal. We were supposed to be rock solid on the lines for this scene so that Mr. A could get us started on the fight choreography, but something about everyone’s eyes on me and Bruno looming over me and sighing loudly every time I mess up… isn’t conducive to a good memory. “I pray you, sir, what is he?”</p><p>            Bruno launches into another monologue; I should be grateful that I don’t talk much this scene, but listening to Bruno instead isn’t really… great.</p><p>            “By pangs of death and sepulcher,” he finishes flatly, then gives me an expectant stare down his nose.</p><p>            I open my mouth.</p><p>            And… <em>Fuck.</em> I shoot a desperate look at Mr. A, who mouths, “I will return again.”</p><p>            “I will return…” I begin. “Into the house and desire some company of the lady.” And break off again.</p><p>            Bruno glowers. Mr. A hems, waiting to see if I’ll pull myself out of this trench (I won’t) and then says, “Alright, thanks Haiza. Why don’t you go run lines with someone and we’ll have Moiz, Ivette, and Bruno run their fight-lines again?”</p><p>            “We ran it like six times,” Bruno complains, but I’m already hopping off the stage. <em>Nope, have fun, I’m out.</em></p><p>            As I scoot past Mr. A, he gives me a reassuring look that I ignore. Leandro stands, looking ridiculous in the tiny folding chair, and offers me my script. I blink away the stinging feeling in my nose. <em>Don’t cry, this is just a rehearsal. Everyone fucks up sometimes.</em></p><p>            “You okay?” Stupid Leandro and his stupid concerned look.</p><p>            <em>Alright. Time to chill. This isn’t his fault.</em></p><p>            “Sorry, yeah, I’m just—ugh, I had them last night.” My voice does that awkward little rasp-squeak that means if I dwell on this I’m actually gonna start crying. <em>Officially blaming this on PMS.</em></p><p>“Yeah.” Leandro nods and lays a comforting arm over my shoulder as we head off to find somewhere secluded to run lines. “It’s different when you’re up on stage, I know.”</p><p>            I brush off the sarcastic answer about how much he does or doesn’t know about theatre and stage-fright, and just make a noise of agreement. My sweater-coat-scarf combo isn’t doing much to mitigate the feeling of Leandro’s arm around me. <em>Okay, no mood swings, please, uterus. Just let me chill for a second.</em></p><p>            “You don’t mind reading for Toby?” I tease. As I hoped, Leandro immediately chases the change of subject.</p><p>            “I’ll be fine for a day, but don’t tell Julio. He’s gotten… way too into this. I think he maybe relates to Malvolio a little too much,” Leandro observes, dark eyes glimmering. We pass Julio a minute later, who’s running lines with Blaire under one of the folded-up basketball hoops. Leandro greets him and Julio offers a vague nod in his brother’s direction.</p><p>            <em>Wow, what I wouldn’t give to have such a close relationship with my brothers</em>, I think dryly. <em>Then again, Baru’s just as bad as Bruno when it comes to getting on my case for not having my lines memorized perfectly.</em></p><p>            “Here, let’s go behind the bleachers,” I suggest. Volleyball tryouts started last week, which I know because I had an intense stress stomach ache trying to figure out if I wanted to try out this time. <em>Verdict on that one; nope.</em> As a result, one of the bleachers is fully extended to the edge of the basketball lines, and Leandro and I scoot around the back. The whole gym is lit in a fluorescent glare, and it’s much more bearable when filtered by the lines of benches above us.</p><p>            “Okay, you wanna try the scene again with me?” Leandro asks, flipping through his script. He <em>still</em> hasn’t gotten a binder for it. Half those pages will be gone by December, I’m certain of it. “What is it, act three-scene four?”</p><p>            “Yeah.” I dig through my own (in-binder) script. Half the lines are starred. I tried to organize the lines last night, into ones I knew and didn’t, but I guess I didn’t account for stage-fright. A somewhat queasy feeling sets up shop in my stomach. <em>How the hell am I supposed to get rid of stage-fright when I’m performing in front of even </em>more<em> people?</em></p><p>            “Sure, okay, wanna try with the script or…?”</p><p>            “No, I know it, I know I do.”</p><p>            And I’m right. Even as Leandro tries to throw me off with a silly face or by completely mispronouncing a word (possibly accidentally), I get through the whole scene without dropping a  single line and minimal faltering. <em>In your face, Bruno, you dick.</em></p><p>            “Hey! You do know it.”</p><p>            “Don’t sound so surprised,” I snort, then grin. “We were <em>supposed </em>to practice this one. It’s just literally every other scene that I’m shaky on.”</p><p>            Leandro snorts, but his smile doesn’t waver. “Okay, then let’s do one of those. What about the storm scene?”</p><p>            “The storm scene?” I echo. “Like, where the twins get separated? Because that happens right before the play actually starts.”</p><p>            “No, no, the other one.” When my eyebrow’s quizzical slant fails to fade, he sighs. “Mel bullied us into watching the movie last weekend. First, gender-ambiguous Imogen Stubbs can <em>get it</em>, second, there was a scene with Orsino and Viola where they’re arguing about love.”</p><p>            “Isn’t that the whole play?”</p><p>            Leandro throws his hands up and starts skimming back through the script. “Found it! It’s the one where Freddy sings that creepy song—also, who knew he could sing so well?—and Orsino says like, vaguely misogynistic stuff and is generally oblivious.”</p><p>            <em>It’s angsty, not creepy.</em> “Ohh, yeah, I remember now. Yeah, I don’t know those lines like… at all. I mean, I know the scene, I know how the conversation goes, but the lines aren’t there at all.”</p><p>            Leandro’s eyes light up and my stomach swoops. <em>That can’t be a good sign.</em> “Then we can do—do the thing!”</p><p>            “The thing?”</p><p>            “I was looking up tips for memorizing lines and I found one specifically about Shakespeare that suggested running the scene in your own words until you get the feeling right.” He gestures vaguely, then snaps his fingers. “Like, the idea is that you’ll internalize the emotion of it, and then after that you can use the lines to express it.”</p><p>            <em>He’s looking up tips on memorizing Shakespeare now?</em> I can’t help an impressed huff. <em>Damn, he really got into this.</em> It’s almost… annoyingly thoughtful. Or selfless is maybe a better word. <em>He cares about it, just ‘cause I care about it.</em> I smile to myself. “Huh. That’s smart. You wanna try it?”</p><p>            “Let’s do it! Er, and we’ll skip past the bit with Curio.” Leandro’s eyes drift up for a moment as if he’s picturing the scene, then grins. “Okay, uh, c’mere kid, lemme tell you about love.”</p><p>            I scoot closer. <em>Are we seriously talking about love under the bleachers…? Keep it together, Haze.</em></p><p>            “Do you like this song?” he asks in his plummy Orsino-voice, waving his hand as if to illustrate the beautiful symphony of sneakers and the hum of people running lines in the rest of the gym.</p><p>            “Yeah, it’s a banger.” I put on my best poker face, and though a smile twitches at the edge of Leandro’s lips, he doesn’t crack.</p><p>            “Ah, you put that so beautifully. Clearly you’ve fallen in love with someone. C’mon who is it?” His cajoling look is a little too real and I laugh nervously.</p><p>            “Oh, uh, yeah, I’m interested in someone. They kind of look like you.”</p><p>            Leandro widens his eyes. “No way! But I’m so ugly!” He tosses his head and then strikes a pose and I flush, laughing. “C’mon, you gotta have better taste than that! How old is she?”</p><p>            “Around your age.” I grin, tapping my chin. It’s easier to remember the thread of the scene when I’m not tripping over the Shakespeare; apparently reading it for four years doesn’t lend you the ability to instantly be able to speak it.</p><p>            “Terrible!” Leandro exclaims and another laugh bubbles out of me. “You should hit on younger women because, uh… the second women become beautiful, they start to get <em>old</em>.”</p><p>            I stage-gasp and Leandro chuckles too. “Oh no! You’re right. Okay, I’ll go look near Tranton.”</p><p>            At the name of the nearby middle school, Leandro finally breaks and bursts into laughter. “No, no, that’s cursed, don’t say that.”</p><p>            “It was your idea, <em>mi’lord.</em>”</p><p>            “And scene,” he yelps as I elbow him.</p><p>            “That’s not the end of the scene!”</p><p>            “You want me to go get Freddy so he can serenade us while we stare meaningfully at each other?”</p><p>            “Yeah, hell no, I take it all back.”</p><p>            Leandro shakes his head, still grinning, and then looks down at his script. You’ll be proud to know that when a tuft of his black hair flops in front of his face, I don’t reach out and gently brush it back. <em>One</em> finger twitches. And only a little. “Man, Orsino is oblivious. How does the man function?”</p><p>            <em>Are you kidding…?</em> “A fleet of servants?”</p><p>            “Mm.” He gives another little chuckle. I think I have arrhythmia. “But like… good grief. I think if I was Viola, I’d go crazy.”</p><p>            <em>Well, I’m getting there.</em></p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*shakes tin* comment sir? comment?</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I Smell a Device</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hollyhoney!! Angst!! Shakespeareeeeeeeeee</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Heloise -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            This is the place. I... think.</p><p>            I peer at the smudge on the back of my hand again. Crowded between ‘science reading (p. 125-131)’ and ‘main office - penny’s bus pass’ is ‘tech meeting @ 11:40, rm 209.’ Probably should’ve just written it on my wrist; even though I tried to keep it all on my hand, I ended the day with nearly half my forearm covered in smudgy black reminders. There are a lot of little tasks and stuff to remember when you start at a new school. <em>And I’m not defacing my beautiful new notebook with ‘page for english due Fri.’</em></p><p>No sign of activity at room 209 though.</p><p>            The notebook, with its pearly curlicues and accompanying New Year’s resolution to try to write something every day, feels like it’s burning a bit of a hole in my pocket. I’ve been trying to get better at describing people’s faces, and after meeting like, a dozen new people every day, I’ve got lots of material to start scribbling down descriptions.</p><p>            Speaking of; another person! Actually, I think I saw her before, in the aforementioned English class with its paper due Fri.</p><p>            “Hey,” she rasps as she arrives next to me, leaning against the bluish-green lockers, and studying the floor.</p><p>            “Hi!” I smile at her.<em> Huh. S’weird being the more extroverted person in the interaction.</em> She returns the smile, though hers is less toothy I’m sure. More like a close-lipped slant. “Bellona, right? We’ve got English with Ms. Hanson, second period?”</p><p>            She nods, gives me a quick, evaluating look. “You can call me Belle,” then returns her gaze to the speckly floor, without asking my name. I’m almost relieved by her silence; I appreciate everyone’s friendliness, but at this point, I’ve had enough too-long small chats with mega-outgoing ‘popular’ kids today to last me a lifetime.</p><p>Instead, I take the opportunity to very subtly stare at her, like a stalker. <em>Like a poet trying to improve,</em> I correct myself. She’s lovely; quite tall, black, and dark-eyed. I’m not sure if it’s intentionally fashionable or not, but she has an alternativey-grunge style with her baggy flannel and torn up jeans that appear to be more like patches of denim held together with safety pins. Her head’s shaved too, which might be edgy on someone else but somehow gives her a more feminine look. It draws attention to the way her brows and lashes frame her big, doe-brown eyes, I think. My hand almost unconsciously moves to touch the outline of my notebook in a pocket of my skirt. She’d be fun to describe.</p><p>            “So, um…” Usually I’m okay with silence, but I’m starting to get concerned I’m in the right place. “This is the A/V—er, tech crew room, right?”</p><p>            “Yep.” Bellona’s still studying the floor. “Hermelinda’s just makin’ us sweat.”</p><p>            <em>Hermelinda?</em> No gentle, small, or warm person has ever had a name with that many syllables. “Who’s Hermelinda?”</p><p>            “Hermelinda Cuerves, she’s tech head.” The way Bellona grimaces makes me think there’s more to that story. “She got promoted last year and… went a ‘lil power crazy. But I’ll look out for you, no worries. Just try to stay out of her way.”</p><p>            <em>Sounds terrifying.</em> “Right. Okay. Um, do you know anyone doing the play?” <em>Now what am I doing? Don’t make small talk.</em></p><p>            Belle doesn’t seem to mind though. She nods, and makes another of her half-smiles. “Yeah. My brother and sister are both big theatre nerds. Blaire and Bruno?”</p><p>            Belle, Blaire, and Bruno? <em>Top-tier parenting.</em> But I keep that to myself. “Oh, cool, um, did they get any big parts?”</p><p>            “Man, I’ll level with you, I don’t know shit about Shakespeare.” And then she laughs, a flash of white teeth and a chuckle like distant thunder. “Bruno ain’t shut up since, and Blaire seems excited too so I dunno, probably.”</p><p>            I can’t help laughing too. “Right. Okay, good to know. Yeah, my sister Penn—”<em> I don’t want to be Penny at St. Erin’s, okay? It’s a new school, and I wanna make a fresh start</em>, her quiet voice in the dark of our shared room echoes in my head. “Penelope, she auditioned too.”</p><p>            “Cool.” Belle nods, and the silence lulls again. I look up and down the hallway, hoping to catch sight of Hermelinda Cuerves the Scary Tech Head ahead of time so I can brace myself. No sign of anyone that fits that description though, mostly just kids sitting in loose circles on the floor with their lunches spread out in front of them. A couple minutes later, Belle looks up. “A’ight, the fuck is going on? This is late, even for M—Hermelinda.”</p><p>            I open my mouth, then pause. When the buzz in the hallway died for a second, I thought I heard voices behind the door, but I brush it off. Then the door to room 209 swings open.</p><p>            “Belle, what are you two <em>lollygagging</em> out here for?” In the entrance, a girl built like a telephone pole is standing, her platinum blond ponytail flickering out behind her spaghetti-strapped-shoulder as if it’s wagging its finger at us. “Mel’s gonna kill you.”</p><p>            Belle huffs. “Take it easy, Izzie, we just…” She trails off then squints at me, a little glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes. “Did you try the door?”</p><p>            Deer in the headlights time. Belle lets out another laugh, and shakes her head.</p><p>            “Just getting to know the newbie, Iz,” Belle rasps, then gives me a grin. I smile shyly, and turn to ‘Iz.’ Her exasperated look is immediately replaced with one I’ve seen way too many times lately. <em>Friendly kid has found a target, locked and loaded.</em></p><p>“Hey! You’re new, right? I’m Isadora Hämäläinen, but everyone calls me Izzie!” Everything about her is like, UV-ray-white. Smile, ponytail, skin, even her ice-blue eyes.</p><p>            <em>I’ve heard that absurd last name somewhere. Poor supply teachers.</em> “You have a brother, right?”</p><p>            “A twin,” Izzie groans. “Sort of. Yeah, Freddy’s my younger brother.”</p><p>            <em>A sort of twin?</em> We don’t have time to unpack that, though because…</p><p>            My heart has stopped beating and I need to be rushed to a hospital.</p><p>            Well, first, a girl who I’m assuming is Hermelinda walks out of the tech room. <em>Then</em> my heart stops beating. Look, it would be poetic to say that I’ve always been good with words but when I saw her, words failed me.</p><p>Unfortunately, it’s not true; I <em>do</em> have a coherent thought when I see her. And that thought is <em>Holyyyyy shit.</em></p><p>            Hermelinda the Scary Tech Head is… <em>devastating</em>, is the best my brain can supply. And also, <em>Why are all the Canadians so insanely tall!? That’s supposed to be a Dutch thing.</em> Belle, who I’d previously assessed as tall, looks positively shrimp-like next to the at-least-six-feet girl in front of me.</p><p>            She looks at me. Maybe she heard the faint fizzle of my brain dying. Those wet-wood black-coffee night-sky-fireworks eyes fix themselves on me, and she tilts her head. A swath of shiny black hair sweeps over her shoulder. She’s beautiful in a way I haven’t seen before, I don’t think; not specifically sexy or cute, more like… a classy, gorgeous, twenties movie star. A mexican twenties movie star…? <em>The goddess Venus in tech crew form. </em>“Giving the new girl a hard time, babe?”</p><p>            Izzie grins. “No, boss. That was all Belle.”</p><p>            Hermelinda’s heart-stopping gaze shifts to Belle, then she shrugs. “Right, hello Bellona. Well, you’re here now.” And back to me. “What’s your name, honey?”</p><p>            <em>Oh, no, we’re in no shape to speak anything out loud,</em> my brain helpfully informs me. My mouth opens a little anyway. Hermelinda’s head tilts another degree. The passage between my mouth and brain has collapsed and will be under repairs for a few months.</p><p>            “I’m Mel,” she adds after another beat.</p><p>            “Alright, Mel, you broke her. Back in the tech room.” Izzie clicks her tongue, then shoos Hermelinda the Devastating Tech Head back into the room. Mel just shakes her head, then disappears. “You’d better go with her, Belle.”</p><p>            Belle shoots Izzie a pleading look, which provokes a raised brow from her and a microscopic gesture to me with her pointy chin. Belle sighs, then shuffles into the room too.</p><p>            “You good? The defibrillator’s that way.”</p><p>            A blush scorches my cheeks, all the way to my ears. “It wasn’t that obvious, was it?”</p><p>            “It… was, extremely so. But honey, it’s <em>expected</em>, she has that effect on everyone,” Izzie says with a sympathetic shake of her head.</p><p>            The second use of ‘honey’ makes me recall. “She called you babe—are you dating?” I redden further. <em>It’d be </em>even better<em> to know that I just dropped dead at the sight of someone else’s girlfriend.</em></p><p>            Izzie laughs. “No, I’m straight and not trying to get my heart broken. She ‘thinks nicknames make it feel more like a real team,’” she motions air quotes, “but uh, she’s actually just shit with names. Called me Isabella last week and we’ve known each other for three years.”</p><p>            <em>But she called Belle ‘Bellona.’</em> “Is she… uh, mean?”</p><p>            “Only if you don’t loop your cords. Naw, the heartbreaking thing was about Ivette.” Izzie pats my shoulder. “You’ll learn the way of the gay at St. Erin’s. Mel turns you gay, Ivy breaks your heart. S’a real house of horrors, exclusively for lesbians. Anyway, glad to have you on the crew! C’mon in.”</p><p>            I blink. <em>So… she </em>is<em> single?</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Julio -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            I’m going to kill Bruno Aiken.</p><p>            And yes, I said that last time, but this time it feels much more… actionable. I scowl at the vague blot of darkness in front of me. At least the harsher spotlighting of the auditorium makes it easier to perceive forms, but... <em>Why can’t Blaire sub in again?</em> It’s all well and good to be method-hating Bruno in most scenes, but then we get to the ones where Malvolio isn’t actively trying to kill Sir Toby, and suddenly I’m having a lot of problems. The words all come out flat and unsteady.</p><p>            Thankfully, Mr. A seems to decide I’m sufficiently tortured. “Alright, alright, great work, Julio. We’re gonna transition into the two major scenes with Toby and Malvolio now, okay? We’ll tackle the box tree next week. You guys can take a five minute break while I go find Daphne, Freddy, Baru, and Blaire.”</p><p>            A sigh of relief escapes me. Lucky thing that Blaire also got cast as Fabian or the binder in my hands will be halfway down Bruno’s throat by the end of rehearsal.</p><p>            “Julio, the thing about Malvolio is that he’s, at his core, deeply unhappy with himself,” Bruno says, approaching me. “I know you don’t—”</p><p>            “Sorry, can’t talk, need some water.”</p><p>            “But—hey, listen—”</p><p>            I escape with a somewhat risky jump off the stage. I’m fairly confident I can judge the distance of it now; we’ve moved rehearsals from the gym to the auditorium in the past week. Hadn’t had much reason to be hopping around the stage before this. Bruno’s voice is still going, but I hope he’s found a new target—I’m getting better at tuning him out, I think.</p><p>            After a few teeth-numbing gulps at the water fountain, and a moment of prayer for God to give me the strength not to beat Bruno with a stick, I return to the chairs and snarf down the Cliff bar Mel forced on me.</p><p>            “Hungry work?” The squeak of Blaire’s wheels and the familiar lump of darkness heralds her arrival next to me.</p><p>            “Can’t kill him on an empty stomach,” I mumble, crumbs spewing.</p><p>            She chuckles. “What’s up next?”</p><p>            “Didn’t Mr. A tell you?”</p><p>            “His tie is magenta with zebra stripes, I was slightly distracted.”</p><p>            “Ah. We’re doing the ‘two big Toby and Malvolio scenes,’ whatever those are.”</p><p>            “The one with the letter?” Blaire’s grin is audible.</p><p>            “Nope, box tree’s next week.”</p><p>            “Pity.”</p><p>            “It is not.”</p><p>            “Alright, guys, c’mon over!” Mr. A calls. I scramble back onto the stage and Blaire scoots around to the ramp. “We’re starting with act two, scene three, beginning with ‘Approach, Sir Andrew!’ Baru and Bruno, you’re up.”</p><p>            Daphne, Freddy, and I shuffle to the edge of the stage to wait for our cues, while Blaire reclines in her chair. I try to mentally flip through the lines in preparation. <em>This is one where Malvolio tells them all to go to hell.</em> Bruno found me last rehearsal to tell me that if I ever needed to be guided on stage he could take my arm. And then touched my arm helpfully. <em>I wish I was allowed to bite him. </em>But I can channel that into my performance, right?</p><p>            Once Freddy’s launched into another song, hamming up his performance much more than anyone asked for, I take a deep breath. Then they do another song. <em>Christ, there’s a lot of singing in this. Lucky it’s mostly Freddy and not Baru or Haiza.</em> That family is <em>not </em>musically talented, which I’ve learned from some very unfortunate karaoke at a party Blaire, Lee, and Haze conspired to drag me off to.<em> My masters, are you mad? My masters, are you mad?</em> My opener hums on my tongue, and I rub my hands anxiously.</p><p>            “For the love of God, peace!” Daphne exclaims. I count my paces as I storm in.</p><p>            “My masters, are you mad?!” It nearly explodes out of me. I barrel on, trying to ride the wave of sudden in-tune-with-the-characterness that I’ve found, gesticulating wildly. “Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night?” The line ebbs and I rack my brain for the next, half-extended arm hanging in the air.</p><p>            “Just remember that—” Bruno begins, almost in my ear. I jerk away and shout,</p><p>            “Do you make an alehouse of my lady’s house, that you squeak out your coziest catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?” Then I direct my best glower in Bruno’s direction.</p><p>            “It’s coziers, not coziest,” Bruno replies. He sounds a little… aghast? “And you’re not supposed to—”</p><p>            “Bruno! I’ll handle the directing. Keep the scene moving,” Mr. A calls up to us. I hear Bruno’s faint sigh, then,</p><p>            “We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up.” He might be delivering it so flatly on purpose, but I manage not to screech the scene to a halt to tell him how I think he should be doing it.</p><p>            “Sir Toby, I must be round with you.” I channel as much of Bruno’s own oozing condescension as I can. “My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she’s nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house. If not, and it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.”</p><p>            Bruno starts his and Freddy’s little bizarre song exchange, and I fold my arms. <em>Blaire’s gonna tease me, but fuck it. That was good. I didn’t even forget anything.</em> We finish off the scene, and I can’t help a little grin for myself as I exit.</p><p>            Blaire congratulates me with minimal ribbing, and I return the compliment.</p><p>            “A kind word from my best friend? Is it my birthday?”</p><p>            “I say nice things about you all the time,” I grouse.</p><p>            “Politifact rated that ‘no.’”</p><p>            Once Blaire got old enough to realize that being a gay, black, trans, disabled girl would result in a few of her rights being debated every election, a fierce political interest developed soon after. “Okay, maybe I don’t say nice things, but I… I don’t say all the mean things that I think.”</p><p>            She makes a high, doubtful noise.</p><p>            “Most of ‘em.”</p><p>            “Mm. So toxic.” I can hear her grin.</p><p>            “What’s the ETA on Bruno’s broken kneecaps?” I ask her, grabbing my cane off my chair as we leave the auditorium. We were only called for half an hour; Lee and others are apparently forced to hang around. “I dunno how much more of this I can take.”</p><p>            Blaire sighs loudly through her nose. “I dunno, man, I’m trying to curse him through ill-will alone, but it’s slow-going. If it helps, I’m suffering too.”</p><p>            “It doesn’t.”</p><p>            “He just stares at Daphne like she’s so freakin’ perfect, and I mean, obviously she is, but like, back off, right?”</p><p>            I nod. Someone in front of me dodges so hard to the left they hit the lockers. <em>You don’t need to fuckin’ parkour around us. Goddamn.</em> I guess I’m in a good mood, because normally I’d flip them off.</p><p>            “And like, fuck, he’s so bad at acting,” Blaire continues. I raise an eyebrow. That’s pretty damning, coming from her. “I get to say it ‘cause he’s my brother, and I busted my ass learning every last line for Toby so that I could practice doing it with lots of zest if Mr. A ever gives me a damn rehearsal. But he’s like a fucking robot!”</p><p>            “Three dollars for the swear jar,” I say dryly, then add, “and I thought you were gonna learn lines with Daphne.”</p><p>            “That’s the point, Jules! I gotta learn them so that when we practice together she’ll be impressed by how smart I am.”</p><p>            I roll my eyes. “Yeah, all good relationships are founded on lies.”</p><p>            “It’s not a lie, it’s… a <em>scheme</em>,” Blaire lectures as we leave the school. The chilly September-October breeze sneaks its way under my hoodie. “Very different things.”</p><p>            “Potato, po-tah-to, tomato, to-mah-to, ketchup, smoothie.”</p><p>            Blaire groans. “Okay, Kiss Quotient time, that was unforgivable.”</p><p>            Definitely a good mood, because I find myself handing her the earbuds so she can open the audiobook on her phone. I guess it's because of rehearsal. <em>I hate Bruno, but acting is kind of fun,</em> I grudgingly admit to myself. Then to keep up my cranky cred, “What kind of cornball can listen to the same cliched romances two hundred times in a row and still enjoy them?”</p><p>            When she hands me the earbuds, instead of the expected narrator’s voice, it’s techno music. A moment later… <em>Baby, can't you see? I'm calling. A guy like you should wear a warning…</em> I scowl down in Blaire’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Bellona -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I’m a Taurus, I think you should know. I’m also not <em>that</em> into astrology, even though you won’t believe me after I chose that as my opener, but I think it’s relevant.</p><p>            When I get my horns into something, I don’t quit. Ever. I don’t know how. I don’t think it’s a family trait, since Blaire flits from interest to interest like a hummingbird getting distracted by bright flowers, and Bruno only ever does things he already knows he’s going to succeed at. And it’s not like, a moral thing. I just do stuff, and then realize four years later I probably should’ve stopped.</p><p>            Tech crew is well on its way to becoming one of those things.</p><p>            I pull my thumbnail out of my mouth and wipe my bleeding cuticle on the edge of my shirt. I’m supposed to be paying attention, but I’ve been spaced out since 2010, so I don’t think I can catch the blame for not listening to Mr. A as he runs through a bajillion lighting cues.</p><p>            “Scene four, I want a middle spot on…”</p><p>            My brain turns the dial of his volume all the way down until I can only hear my thoughts. <em>Hmmm… pretty lights.</em> The auditorium yawns like the mouth of a giant angler fish out the window of the tech booth, the centre-stage spotlight acting as its… dangly light thing. <em>What’s the word for it? Grade-nine-Blaire would know.</em> She had a marine biology phase that lasted a couple of months.</p><p>            Now that I’m in year five of my tech crew phase, I feel like I should’ve gotten slightly better at paying attention when the teacher gives me the list of directions. And it’s not like I’m bad at taking orders; fuck, if anything, the number of <em>decrees</em> Queen Mel has been issuing since our first meeting should show that I have the patience of a goddamn saint. <em>Queen Hermelinda, I mean.</em></p><p>            I dart a look at Her Majesty, who is reclining on the padded swivel chair I didn’t bother trying to fight her for. Despite the bulky headset over her ears, she’s obviously listening to the teacher, nodding along and slipping <em>Mhmm</em>s between his enthusiastic gesticulation. <em>Why doesn’t she just take off her other headphones for tech meetings…?</em> I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her entire neck. Except for that time when, uh, I got a really good look at her neck, let’s say. But aside from a couple instances that I’m not gonna dwell on, those scarlet headphones stay firmly resting on her collarbone. I wish she looked stupid, wearing two pairs of headphones. One ear of her personal pair has gotten caught on the edge of her blouse.</p><p>            And I don’t notice, because I’m paying attention to everything Mr. A says and not staring at my ex.</p><p>            ‘Cause I’m fine, and completely over her. Totally moving on.</p><p>            Well, that last part isn't actually a lie; my brain <em>has</em> found another unattainable, out-of-my-league girl to silently obsess over. But I’m hoping that if I just don’t admit it to myself, I won’t actually get my heart broken, you know? Denial is comfier than the comfiest swivel chair in the tech booth, sometimes.</p><p>            “What do you think, Belle?”</p><p>            Mr. A’s asking for input. I nod, pretending to think it over, then shrug. “Whatever you think is best.”</p><p>            That’s my go-to for Mr. A; he’s always already made up his mind about whatever it is. And sure enough, he smiles wide and starts off again about spotlights. I didn’t have a go-to when I was spacing out around Mel. I could just tell her that I wasn’t paying attention and she’d repeat herself, because she was always patient with me. But I’m over her, for sure.</p><p>            “Right! That should about do it. Well, thank you, ladies, and I’m looking forward to next rehearsal!” Mr. A stands and shakes Mel’s hand. Hermelinda’s hand, I mean. “Glad to have you as tech head, Mel, you’re doing a fine job so far.”</p><p>            Her smile is subdued, one of her ‘She’s so pretty it hurts’ smiles, not a full on, triple-decker deluxe ‘I think you’re actually my soulmate’ grins. Which is for the best. But still, validation from an authority figure is supposed to be her greatest joy in life, so I’m getting the feeling there’s something going on with her. But she can chat about that with her friends and her family and whichever new girl she’s seeing.</p><p>            <em>And I don’t know who that is, because I’m not stalking her socials. </em>That one’s true as well. I’ve been on a bit of an Instagram cleanse generally. Pinterest is still getting combed every so often for aesthetics and fashion, and my ‘wardrobe of the war god’ board is quickly filling up, which means another Value Village spree is on the horizon. Blaire’s swiped enough of my clothes that I think Dad’ll agree. I think Bruno even stole one of my belts.</p><p>            <em>Grand larceny is the highest form of flattery, right?</em></p><p>Hermelinda bids a farewell to Mr. A, who offers her a copy of the script with his cue notes in it, then dances out the door. I pull out my phone, ready to be engrossed in staring at my home screen of Blaire, Bruno, and me on Bruno’s birthday last March, if things get awkward. Sure enough, Mel’s taking her time—Hermelinda’s taking her time packing her stuff away. She pulled out homework to do halfway through the meeting when we were waiting for Mr. A, and now she’s flattening each paper like it’s four hundred years old and she need to preserve it for historical records. Mr. A’s script gets the same treatment, and I quickly look back at my phone so I don’t start dwelling on the satisfying movement of her long fingers sweeping across the page, glossy black nails pinning down each edge.</p><p>            Instead, I stare at my home screen. I wasn’t kidding. It’s a really good picture, man. Blaire’s cheesing from ear to ear, even Bruno managed a smile for the occasion. I’m tilting my head like I’m trying to get a good angle, lips closed and eyebrows raised a bit. My brain starts picking out the faults in the picture; I looked so posed, and the blur tool I tried to use to fix my cystic acne gives it a really Facetune-y, fake look. That’s the kind of superficiality I’m trying to fix with this whole social-media-cleanse, though.</p><p>            “Bellona? Are you coming out?” Mel’s voice snaps me out of my home screen haze. “I was going to lock up.”</p><p>            “Oh, yep, coming.” I fail to pick between waving and saying ‘bye’ to her when I get to the door of the tech booth, so instead I give her a really awkward head bob and then start walking down the hall.</p><p>            “You forgot your bag!”</p><p>            <em>Motherfucker.</em> I will my cheeks not to flame as I make the walk of shame back to the tech booth to grab my backpack. “Thanks. See you later.”</p><p>            “See you.”</p><p>            I don’t know which god I pissed off, but just as I’m walking out the C door, I spot the group of people ahead of me. Izzie, who I’d normally catch up to and say hi if she was alone, is walking with her non-tech friend group. Which includes Daphne. And her twin sister, who shall remain nameless. And Moiz and Heloise, the new girl, who I care about equally.</p><p>            I’m sure you’ve heard the saying by now, but <em>for the record</em>, Hermelinda Cuerves is not the reason I’m gay. Shego from Kim Possible is the reason I’m gay. And possibly also the reason I’ve found myself attracted to a girl in black lipstick. <em>Fuck. Maybe Freud was right.</em> I swallow hard and try to shuffle along even slower. And she-who-shall-not-be-named won’t break my heart.</p><p>            Moiz says something and Iv—the group laughs. I stand still and wait until they’ve crossed the parking lot to the bus stop and resign myself to walking home with only Megan Thee Stallion to comfort me. Earbuds, not headphones.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Moiz -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “Would thoud’st be ruled by me?” Cory looms over me, batting her eyelashes, and I fight off another nervous giggle. Mr. A, yeah <em>Mr. A</em> already got on my case about bursting into laughter in the middle of a scene, but I can’t help it. Cory’s got a better poker face than me, but I can see the pent-up giggles twinkling in her blue eyes.</p><p>            “Madam, I will!” I proclaim, voice strained as I hold it in.</p><p>            “Oh, say so, and so be!” Cory fans herself and an actual tear leaks out of the corner of my eye as she swans offstage, tugging me along behind her. I slap my hand over my mouth but I’m already wheezing.</p><p>            Mr. A can’t keep up his stern gaze for long, and also starts laughing. “I know, Moiz, it’s a funny scene, but let the audience do the laughing.”</p><p>            I don’t really know how to explain to him that it’s not strictly how Sebastian’s ready to run off with this woman he quite literally met thirty seconds ago, or how enchanted Olivia is with the <em>twin</em> of the person she’s actually interested in, but more about the way Cory seems to have made it her mission to go full ham on every last one of her lines. And apparently laugh-wheezing your way through all your lines is Haraam.</p><p>            “Yes, Mr. A,” I say as soon as I’m under control.</p><p>            “Alright, let’s try the marriage. You gonna be okay, Moiz?”</p><p>            “Yes, Mr. A.”</p><p>            Bald-faced lie. I make it through my monologue, a solid job for someone who was line-cramming just before rehearsal, and immediately start to crack when Cory flounces on. To be fair to me, I never knew Cory had this melodramatic streak—we have that weirdly close-distant relationship of two people who grew up just outside of each other’s social circles. We both went to Tranton, both go to St. Erin’s, but by the time it wasn’t weird to be friends with girls, she was deep in the track team and I was always a little too intimidated by her. But I guess now’s as good a time as any to get to know the girl I’ve known for a decade.</p><p>            Heloise, the new girl on tech that Ivy immediately set her sights on steps onstage to be the pastor. Lucky her, she has no lines and Mr. A doesn’t reprimand her when she giggles at Cory’s antics. I fumble my way through the last couplet, then Cory drags me back offstage.</p><p>            “You’re doing this—on purpose,” I hiss at her between gasps for air.</p><p>            She gives me an angelically innocent look but I see right through her. “Never! It won’t be funny by opening night, anyway.”</p><p>            But that’s not even three months away, now. We’re almost at Hallowe’en. There’s a good chance I’ll be wheezing through my lines in front of whoever wants to come see a high school production of Twelfth Night. <em>And Baru and Haiza are doing just as bad, apparently.</em> Poor Haiza, she was so excited, and now she’s having all that trouble saying her lines onstage. That is… not my problem, but I empathize anyway.</p><p>            “We’ll see,” I choke, and manage to make it sound like a threat.</p><p>            “Alright, you guys can come back and I’ll give you some notes,” Mr. A sighs and I have a feeling I already know what he’s gonna say.</p><p>            Once he’s done with us, he calls the whole cast together for our last meeting before we go. Some more people with minor characters, or who weren’t called for the whole rehearsal, are already gone. I drop into a seat next to Ivy, still catching my breath. Asthma and nervous giggles is a bitch of a combination.</p><p>            “How’s Cory?” she asked, eyeing the way I suck in a breath and try not to remember the way Cory waggled her eyebrows on <em>This act of mine</em>.</p><p>            “She’s hilarious. I... never knew.”</p><p>            Ivy gives me a doubtful look.</p><p>            “Seriously.” I shake my head. “You’ll see.”</p><p>            Mr. A launches into his spiel, going over how long we have before opening night and what we’re going to be doing in the next couple of weeks. Apparently music rehearsal is ramping up and we’re going to start choreographing the fights. <em>That should be interesting.</em> I know Sebastian’s involved in some of them.</p><p>            “And finally, Daphne let me know about something you all might be interested in!” he finishes.</p><p>            <em>Oh?</em> I crane my neck to look over Ivy’s head at her twin. Daphne’s blushing a little to be the centre of attention, fiddling with her charm bracelet, but she smiles as Mr. A continues.</p><p>            “As you all know, there’s a lot of music in Twelfth Night. But as Daphne discovered, there’s an actual musical for the play!” he announces, eyes twinkling. “It’s on YouTube, right?”</p><p>            Daphne nods, lifting up her phone like we can see the tiny screen from our positions the first row of chairs in the auditorium.</p><p>            “Right! Well, you guys can go look for it on your own time. If you’ve been having a hard time with the plot or anything, you might want to check it out!” Mr. A suggests. “Alright, that’s all. We’ll see you next week.”</p><p>            <em>Huh, a musical?</em> Daphne’s… <em>passion</em> for musicals isn’t unknown to our friend group. I’ve been sworn to secrecy by Ivy on a few occasions when her twin cajoled her into some kind of musical theatre duet. <em>Dunno if that’s really my thing.</em> But I guess it’s worth checking out.</p><p>            “Ready to go?” Ivy’s already got everything tucked away in her satchel. I shove my script’s binder into the already-overstuffed beat up black backpack that I’ve had since grade four and sling it over my shoulder.</p><p>            “Yup, let’s bounce. I have so much homework.”</p><p>            “Too much for costume shopping?” Ivy doesn’t use her puppy eyes nearly as much as her sister does, but they’re still pretty hard to say no to.</p><p>            “Ohh, shit, I forget we were gonna do that today,” I groan. “Not for too long, yeah?”</p><p>            “Half an hour?”<br/>            “Yeah, yeah, alright.”</p><p>            “And anyway, your costume’s gonna be way easier to find. You still have your dad’s old lab coat?”</p><p>            “Yeah.” I grimace to think of how he’s going to react when I return it, dyed a dark blue.</p><p>            “Then all you need is the face paint and the crazy hair. <em>I’m </em>going to have trouble, though. Where the hell am I going to find this much black and green spandex?” She waves her phone with its ‘Shego costume ideas’ board open onscreen under my nose.</p><p>“Green and black spandex is half your wardrobe.”</p><p>“Shut up and let’s go, we’re wasting daylight.”</p><p>I shut up and follow her into the mostly deserted hallways. Then a moment later, ask, “Hey, did Daphne tell you about that musical thing?”</p><p>            Ivy snorts. “Yeah. Me and half the neighbourhood. I think it might be the only thing she’s listened to for the last week.”</p><p>            “And? How is it?”</p><p>            “I dunno, Antonio hardly gets a song, so…” Ivy purses her black lips and shrugs.</p><p>            I snort. “You listened to it, eh?”</p><p>            Ivy grins. “Hey, man, she’s annoying sometimes but she’s my sister. If she’s gonna dedicate her whole life to a musical, I wanna know what’s up with it. And I’m gonna need to know the lyrics when she wants to do karaoke. Now c’mon, let’s go thrift.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please leave me a comment!</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Boiled to Death with Melancholy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy new year ladies and ladles and lads! Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Blaire -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “Sick costume,” Julio says, dry as a bone, when I reach him at the bus stop.</p><p>            “<em>Thank</em> you, Jules, I worked really hard on it,” I say sweetly.</p><p>            I’ve gotten really into sewing recently, which is rapidly expanding to crocheting and knitting, and I dusted off Mom’s old sewing machine to turn an old blue blanket into a long mermaid tail. A few hours of cutting up pieces of reflective green plastic, trying and failing to glue them to the fabric, then forcing my needle through the plastic later, I had a damn good mermaid tail.</p><p>            I think if I tried to wear a seashell bra to school, Mr. B would spin kick me so hard that my wheelchair would rocket down the street, so instead I go with a cute, turquoisey-green sequined shirt that I excavated from Belle’s closet. I’m not <em>really</em> a thief, she just has so many clothes that it’s becoming a fire hazard. And she doesn’t even <em>wear </em>half of them; this shirt particularly is actually cut to fit a human woman, lying just off my shoulders and falling in layers over my collarbone, not the baggy swathes of fabric that she’s favouring lately. I usually leave my hair in its <em>au naturel</em> afro, and today added a little blue headband with a couple of plastic starfish glued on.</p><p>            Julio’s stunning costume appears to be ‘black hoodie with completely faded white graphic designs and dark skinny jeans,’ which is to say, he didn’t dress up. At least he looks dressed for the weather, if not for Hallowe’en. I’ve seen him sweat like a pig in those hoodies in July just because he refuses anything even <em>slightly</em> more form-fitting or short-sleeved.</p><p>            The day is pretty much what you’d expect from high school teachers and Hallowe’en. Ms. Erikkson has a bag of jujubes that she hands out to the class for answering her as she quizzes us on the trenches and World War One, and Mr. A is wearing a truly atrocious acid-green tie patterned with candy corn and smiling pumpkins, but other than that, it’s business as usual at St. Erin’s.</p><p>            Julio and I find our usual cafeteria table after second period, and I empty my lunch box across the table. Julio’s ears practically perk up at the crinkle of cellophane as a couple of fun-sized pieces of chocolate drop out. I thought it prudent to add a handful from the candy bowl that my mom’s been stocking for the past week to the lunch she made—<em>Yes</em>, she still packs my lunch for me. It’s up to me to make sure I’m getting all the food groups, though; <em>licorice, chocolate, caramel, and… gummy.</em></p><p>            “Take the coffee crisps, I hate ‘em,” I announce, flicking the yellow-wrapped chocolate over to his side of the ever-so-slightly-sticky gray cafeteria table.</p><p>            “Why do you pack them if you hate them?” he grumbles.</p><p>            I roll my eyes. <em>Why do you think, you giant dork?</em> His sister’s the one with the raging caffeine addiction, but I know he’s got a taste for coffee in chocolate form. I snack on my twizzlers silently, then move onto the egg salad sandwich.</p><p>            “Mom got a girlfriend,” Julio comments. “Or at least, decided it was getting serious enough to tell us about her.”</p><p>            “Thought she’d be too busy at the hospital.” It’s not as weird as it sounds for us to be chatting about Julio’s mom. Mrs. Cuerves is one of the single nicest people I’ve ever met, and when my spina bifida suddenly shut off all movement in my legs and Mom was first freaking out about my condition, the fact that my best friend’s mom was an orthopaedic surgeon came in handy for calming her nerves. I wasn’t complaining about Mom suddenly bringing me over to their house more often; I’d catapult Julio directly to whatever wolves downtown Toronto has to offer for some of Mrs. Cuerves’s butterscotch brownies.</p><p>            “She met her at the hospital,” Julio answers, shaking his head. “So I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of us meeting her, just given the… scheduling.”</p><p>            Mrs. Cuerves is <em>also </em>one of the most overworked people I’ve met, and I can see it in Mel, Leandro, and Julio’s relationship. Their mom is a saint, unquestionably, but a single parent working as a full-time surgeon means they practically raised themselves and each other. Trust me, I’ve heard plenty about Mel’s overbearingly-mother-ish habits and how she treated Belle more like a little kid than her girlfriend during Belle’s week-long ice cream depression last summer.</p><p>            That was better than when she started sobbing about how Mel was the love of her life and Literally Perfect (despite the previously listed flaws). And look, I’m not unsympathetic to Belle’s plight; she’s not naturally dramatic so it was obvious enough she took the break up really hard, but once you’re cleaning snot off <em>your</em> pillow because your sister insists your bed is more comfortable than hers, you can talk to me about not being sympathetic enough.</p><p>            “Looking forward to rehearsal?” I ask as we start packing up our stuff.</p><p>            Julio shrugs. Liar. I know he’s having fun with the play.</p><p>            “I don’t think I’m even called for a scene,” he huffs. “Just music.”</p><p>            “Ooh, yeah, we’re starting stage combat, aren’t we? D’you think Mr. A has any idea how to stage a fight for a wheelchair-user?”</p><p>            “Hell if I know,” Julio snorts, then adds, “Probably not.”</p><p>            <em>We’ll see.</em></p><p>            “I’m not sure how to stage a fight for a wheelchair-user,” Mr. A tells me as I arrive for rehearsal.</p><p>            <em>Welp.</em></p><p>            “But once we’ve run through it with Bruno a couple times, we’ll get you up there and see what you can do, okay?” I purse my lips, but then thank him anyway. At least I get to be Toby today. “Cool costume, Blaire.”</p><p>            I watch from the first row of chairs as Mr. A gets Moiz, Bruno, and Baru onstage and starts showing Baru how to stage-slap his older brother. I watch, chuckling to myself at the discrepancy between my brother and Moiz and Baru’s heights. Neither of the Tandon brothers are more than five and half feet tall, and Bruno looms over them like a scowling tree. I’m probably going to be closer to their height onstage in my chair.</p><p>            Finally, Mr. A finishes with Bruno and waves me up. I practically whiz to my spot between Moiz and Baru, rubbing my hands together to get them warmed up for slapping. Toby doesn’t slap either of them, but… y’know. Gotta be ready for anything.</p><p>            As Mr. A regards me onstage from his favourite spot, a power-stance in front of the stage with his fingers buried thoughtfully in his goatee, his eyes begin to twinkle. “Alright, Blaire, I have a bit of an idea. Let me know what you’re okay with and what you’re not, eh?”</p><p>            I eye him somewhat warily.</p><p>            “Sir Toby has a sword in this scene and Sebastian has a dagger,” Mr. A begins, gesturing to Moiz. “So I’m thinking that if you end up taking over for Bruno for any of our shows, when you say…” He pauses and flips through his script. “‘I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you,’ and you and Sebastian start to fight, I’m thinking you and Moiz cross ‘blades’ once—you’ll be trying with wooden ones today but you’ll have metal props for the show—and then Sebastian realizes he’s out of his depth and starts running around the stage. Blaire, you chase him.”</p><p>            Then he grabs a wooden sword that’s more like a big dowel stuck to a hilt and passes it up to me.</p><p>            “Chase him?” I repeat, giving the sword a few practices <em>whick</em>s. “Hm… I think I could manage that.”</p><p>            Mr. A claps. “Then let’s try it!”</p><p>            Moiz swallows. I grin and brandish my new weapon.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Leandro -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “There’s still time to get a costume!” I exclaim as I check the time—4:29. Mr. A had us in the email as called for five o’clock, and Haze lives kind of far from St. Erin’s so we just hung out for an hour. We still have a half hour to kill, and she is very resistant to my proposal that we use it to get her a costume.</p><p>            We step out of the 7-Eleven and into the October chill, me with my peanuts and Haze with her green apple hard candies. She’s had an addiction to them for longer than I can remember—always smells a bit like them, always has one in the pocket of her fleece sweater, and apparently prefers the overpriced sleeves of them to all the other discounted Hallowe’en candy. At least it makes gift-shopping easy. <em>Christmas is coming!</em> I suddenly remember. My favourite time of year. I’ve been saving up for months.</p><p>            “You’re worse than Julio,” I sigh as Haze burrows deeper into her scarves.</p><p>            “At least I’m not going around telling everyone I’m dressed up as a high school student,” she groans, hopping along a little faster like she’s getting colder. “I just didn’t have time this year.”</p><p>            “All work and no play makes Haze a dull hermit crab.”</p><p>            An elbow shoots out of her scarf-fort and I dodge back, nearly tripping over the curb as we step into the parking lot.</p><p>            I shake my head. “You gotta lighten up sometimes, man.”</p><p>            “I—” She freezes suddenly, tilting her head up. It’s almost sunset, I realize; autumn’s shortening days always creep up on me. The whites of her eyes are bright in the low light as they widen. “It’s snowing.”</p><p>            “Huh?” I look up and catch a snowflake in the eye. “Hey. It is!” The sheets of white drift and spiral toward us, one of those nothing-and-then-suddenly-WHAM-blizzard snowfalls.</p><p>            Haiza laughs. Snowflakes land on her hijab, lashes, and brown cheeks, then melt a moment later. The sound of her laugh is so warm and infectious that I find myself laughing too. Then I put on a deep voice and croon,</p><p>            “<em>I’m dreamiiiiing, of a white Hallowe’en</em>.” I grab her hands, outstretched to feel the snow even in the cold air, and spin her around in a waltz. She’s giggling too hard to keep her balance as I wheel us in circles in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Her breath is a puff of white, green-apple-scented steam in the air between us.</p><p>            “Glad I won’t be trick-or-treating,” she says as we slow to a sway. I should let go now, probably. Her hands are freezing, as I expected, each silvery ring like liquid nitrogen against my hands. The thick, ex-spoon ring I bought her last year for her birthday is almost heavy in my palm. I’d planned to give it to her on one knee as a joke and chickened out at the last second.</p><p>            “So practical. You’re allowed to have fun,” I remind her.</p><p>            Haze half-smiles, then notices how we’re not even moving anymore, just huddling together and holding hands like nerds, and pulls away. I pretend to wipe my hands on my pants and laugh it off, trying not to think about how they’re tingling a bit.</p><p>            “Clammy,” I joke.</p><p>            “They are not!” She’s outraged, then laughs. “I have cold hands, but they’re <em>dry</em>, thank you very much.” Her laughter fades, and she shakes her head at me. A snowflake lands on her nose and it’s gone before I can wonder if I’d get away with brushing it off. “We’re gonna be late.”</p><p>            “Oh gosh!” I check my phone and clutch my puffy-coat-covered-chest. “We might only get there twenty minutes early if we leave right now!”</p><p>            She rolls her eyes at me and the moment’s past. We set off down the slightly-snowier street toward St. Erin’s and I stuff my hands in my pockets to avoid thinking about how they’re still tingling, just a little.</p><p>            Freddy’s waiting for us when we stroll into rehearsal.</p><p>            “The newlyweds!” he trills as we walk up the stairs of the stage.</p><p>            “Alright, folks, I don’t want to keep you guys too long but I really wanted to make sure we nail this scene,” Mr. A announces, already holding up his hand to silence Freddy’s joke about what else we’ll be nailing. “Freddy, I recorded Ms. Cary’s accompaniment so if you’re comfortable, I’d really like for you to try singing.”</p><p>            <em>That should settle him down,</em> I think, and sure enough, his expression sobers like he’s preparing for war. Haiza also looks grim. <em>At least you don’t have to sing.</em> Which she should chill about, because she has a really good voice. As long as she’s just singing something quietly to herself and not in front of anyone.</p><p>            “Act two, scene four, right?” I ask, flipping through my loose pages. <em>Damn, I forgot to reorder them last night.</em></p><p>            “Leandro, do you know the lines?”</p><p>            I jerk my head up. “What? Of course.” The sites with memorization tips had enough of the same jokes about directors coming at you with a stick for not remembering your lines that I’m assuming violence is a well-known punishment for lazy line-learning.</p><p>            “Then put down the script,” Mr. A instructs, coming to the stage to take it from me.</p><p>            I crouch and hand it over, but new anxiety flickers in my stomach. Even though I <em>do</em> know the lines, I found the script really useful to stare down meaningfully at it when Haze’s voice does that little shake she gives it on her sad lines, or the look in her eye is a little too real. Now I’ve got no pages to fiddle with. I crack my knuckles.<em> Okay, cool, we’ll just make intense eye contact and I’ll start crying in the middle of one of her monologues because I am a gigantic weenie and then…</em></p><p>            “Alright, go for it,” Mr. A says, and assumes his wide-legged stance and look of scrutiny.</p><p>            “Give me some music, now,” I begin. “Good morrow, friends. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song—that old and antique song we heard last night. Methought it did relieve my passion much, more than light airs and recollected terms, of these most brisk and giddy-paced times: Come, but one verse.”</p><p>            “He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it,” Mr. A reads.</p><p>            <em>Who’s going to be playing Curio in the show? </em>I mentally swat myself. <em>Focus, Leandro.</em> “Who was it?”</p><p>            Mr. A answers me, then pretends to exit. I turn to Haze and gulp down my nerves. <em>Now what am I supposed to do with my hands?</em></p><p>            “Come hither, boy.” I gesture grandly, feeling the same loosening of anxiety that I get once the scene really starts. Just me and the weird English. And Haiza, looking wide-eyed and uncertain as she moves toward me. <em>Damn</em>, she’s a good actor. “If ever thou shalt love, in the sweet pangs of it, remember me. For such as I am, all true lovers are. Unstaid and skittish in all motions else save in the constant image of the creature that is beloved.” I’ve mouthed the words enough times that the muscle memory is what carries me through the unfamiliar syntax. This time though, my voice is a little softer than it was when I practiced between classes. “How dost thou like this tune?”</p><p>            Haiza does that thing where, like it’s a new person is standing in her skin. She raises her chin a little and shrugs with one shoulder. “It gives a very echo to the seat where love is throned.”</p><p>            “Thou dost speak masterly,” I rasp, then try to put that playful tone in my voice. “My life upon ’t, young though thou art, thine eye hath stay’d upon some favor that it loves. Hath it not, boy?”</p><p>            And as Haiza tilts her head with a shy smile, her silvery-blue scarf shifting and scattering the last un-melted snowflakes, I think, <em>Yeah, my eye’s stayed on a favour or something too, Cesario. Me too.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>- Ivette -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “Uh… love child of Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn?”</p><p>            “<em>No</em>, Shego, goddamnit! Didn’t you watch Kim Possible as a kid?” I sigh and lean back against one of the tables, then pull out my phone and open it to the picture I’ve had to show half of everyone today.</p><p>            Izzie squints. “Hmm. And what are you, Moiz?”</p><p>            “Dr. Drakken, the other villain,” Moiz groans, and pulls out his phone as well.</p><p>            Apparently not <em>everyone</em> watched Kim Possible as a kid, but I still think we look dope. Moiz’s little stitched black scar make-up got a bit smudged, and I’ve had to periodically fix my single black lip because I keep pressing my lips together and ruining it, but the best costumes require a little… maintenance, don’t they?</p><p>            We’re kicking it in the tech booth because Mr. A wanted to see the tech crew after rehearsal and Moiz is driving himself and Haiza home. Baru’s waiting for them too, but even when his brother invited him up to the tech booth, he stalked off on his own. I figured I’d stick around with Moiz and my tech friends too for the last half hour that rehearsal’s running. Which makes us a group of Moiz, me, Izzie, the new girl Heloise and also…</p><p>            “Bellona knows who I am, eh?” I’ve been trying to figure out a subtle way to include the girl in the corner in our conversations for the last fifteen minutes. Now is the time for giving up on subtlety.</p><p>            “Belle,” she corrects automatically, then looks up. Her dark gaze skitters off mine and lands on Moiz. “Cool costume, man.”<br/>            “Thanks!” Moiz shoots me a meaningful look.</p><p>            I smile innocently enough. “What, you don’t like mine?”</p><p>            Belle almost seems to be gritting her teeth and she very deliberately looks me over. I didn’t intentionally do ‘sexy Shego’ but a stick-thin cartoon character in latex and the considerably heavier-me in latex give somewhat different vibes. <em>I </em>think I look hot, and maybe there’s a little part of me that hopes Belle agrees. If she does, though, she doesn’t say so.</p><p>            “Yeah, it’s good.” Then she goes back to pointedly ignoring us.</p><p>            “God, I feel like I should stage an intervention,” Moiz comments as he drifts to watch the action onstage from the window-wall in the booth.</p><p>            Freddy’s mournful voice rings, muffled, in the auditorium, and even from my perch on the table on the other side of the booth, I can see that Haiza and Leandro are on either sides of the stage, staring at each other.</p><p>            “Freddy said the same thing to me last week,” Izzie says, peeling herself off the wall to join Moiz at the window. “You think they’ll ever get it together?”</p><p>            “Who?” Heloise, the new girl pipes up. She doesn’t talk much, especially not when Mel’s around, but I figure it’s hard to adjust to a new high school in a new country. I’d probably be kind of shy too.</p><p>            Izzie gestures to them. “The two that aren’t singing. Mel’s younger brother Leandro, and Moiz’s younger sister. They’ve been best friends…” Izzie glances at Moiz.</p><p>            “Forever, basically.” Moiz’s lips twitch into a wry grin. “Dunno why no one called <em>him</em> a queer in elementary school for being friends with girls.”</p><p>            “‘Cause he could deck ‘em,” Heloise says wisely, eyeing Leandro’s silhouette.</p><p>            I burst out in laughter. “Leandro? Hell no, he’s like a giant cuddly teddy bear.”</p><p>            “Himbo,” Moiz volunteers. “Giant himbo. The definition of it. Yeah, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. But no, him and my sister’ve been silently obsessed with each other for like, a decade, I think?”</p><p>            Heloise looks around the tech booth to see us all nodding, and her blue eyes widen. “Why doesn’t anyone…” She blushes and shrugs. “You know, give them a little push. Try to get them to figure it out.”</p><p>            Moiz holds up three fingers. “Grade seven, asked Leandro to the Hallowe’en dance on her behalf. They went as <em>friends</em>. Grade nine. Told Haze that Leandro was one hundred percent into her. She said I was teasing and didn’t talk to me for a week. <em>Yesterday,</em> told her that if she didn’t fess up to being in love with him by the last show, I’d do it myself.”</p><p> Heloise is stunned.</p><p>            I’m not surprised her suggestion provoked that little tirade from Moiz though; when his own romantic aspirations were tragically dashed by his impossibly high standards (no man alive is well groomed, into D&amp;D, and as obsessed with the Arctic Monkeys as he is) he made it his goal in high school to get his sister and her best friend together. Also a fruitless endeavour.</p><p>            Then Heloise shrugs. “Right, then I guess we’ve only gotta wait a couple of months.”</p><p>            I grin and hop off the table, moving over to lean against the wall next to Heloise. “How’re you finding St. Erin’s? Everyone nice?”</p><p>            “Oh!” She blushes again. “Yeah, everyone’s been… been great.”</p><p>            Belle looks up and frowns at me. I cock my head. <em>Is she jealous? Ah, damn, does she have a thing for the new girl?</em></p><p>            I size up Heloise suddenly. Her round cheeks are still faintly red, and she looks a little deer-in-the-headlights as I give her a once over. She’s wearing a skirt and long socks like an anime girl or something. Cat girl, I guess, since she put on a little cat-ear-headband today for Hallowe’en. I wonder if Belle likes that. <em>Well, fuck, I’m out of luck in that case.</em> I’d prefer a firing squad. As my eyes travel up, I spot something on her hand. <em>Is that a tattoo?</em></p><p>            Before I can think that this is definitely going to give multiple people the wrong impression, I reach out and take her hand to inspect it more closely. “Huh. You write on your hand?”</p><p>            She turns from flushed-pink to tomato-red and snatches her hand back. I open my hand instinctively, already apologizing. “Yeah. It’s how I… how I remember stuff.”</p><p>            “What about that notebook?” I motion to the one halfway out of her pink backpack.</p><p>            In a surprisingly swift motion, she crams it back into her bag and zips it tight like she thinks I’m going to make a grab for it. “Nothing!”</p><p>            “Ooookay.” I shrug and back up a little. “Sorry. How’s tech crew?”</p><p>            “Good,” she squeaks.</p><p>            “Uh… and how’s Mel? I’ve heard she’s scary…?” I do that little circular motion with my chin, trying to get her to chill a little. Daphne and Izzie immediately made it their mission to make her welcome, and I gotta support my girls or whatever, so I want to make her feel welcome too. Apparently I’m scaring the piss out of her, but it’s the thought that counts.</p><p>            “She’s…” Heloise’s throat bobs as she swallows. “Er, she’s… very…”</p><p>            <em>Ah.</em> I’ve seen that look before. I shoot a knowing look at Belle, who shrugs as if to say <em>What can you do?</em></p><p>            “Mel likes you,” Izzie volunteers, apparently bored with studying Leandro and Haiza’s snail-paced romance. “She told me. Says she thinks you’re the most normal person on tech crew.”</p><p>            I think I detect a hint of indignation from Belle, but I grin at Heloise. “Ay! That’s good news, eh?”</p><p>            Heloise flames brighter.</p><p>            <em>Mmkay.</em> I turn back to Moiz. “When’s rehearsal over?”</p><p>            He checks his watch. “We got another half hour of suffering.”<br/>            I turn back to Belle. “How shall we entertain ourselves?”</p><p>            “We shan’t do anything,” she answers, already engrossed in something on her phone. “Can’t find a heart to break, ladykiller?”<br/>            The flippant question makes me wanna bare my teeth like an animal, but I manage to resist, and instead frown. “Don’t call me that.” Then to alleviate some of the tension, add, “Only for close friends.” And I elbow Moiz.</p><p>            But when I look back at her, Belle’s looking back up at me, not uncomfortable, just silently contemplative. I freeze for a second, staring in a very not-obvious way, then clear my throat.</p><p>            “Right, shall we start betting on how long it takes for Haizandro to sail?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Haiza -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I was actually starting to reconsider my assessment of ‘turbofucked.’ It seemed a little hyperbolic; I’ve been in love with Leandro for long enough that I’ve adjusted to moments of intense heartache, I love Twelfth Night, and I got a main role. If I should be both dreading it and ecstatic, they should cancel each other out, right?</p><p>            Noooope. It’s not a cancelled out feeling, more like shooting up both emotions in their purest forms. Like the feeling of getting up really early, or staying up really late, or speed-reading books for a day, or…</p><p>            Or, I don’t know, being in love with your best friend.</p><p>            Plus he looks unfairly good as a pirate. Which isn’t my main problem at the moment, but like, damn, he can rock the gold earring.</p><p>            Nope, my main problem is actually Freddy’s inexplicably heavenly voice and the four minutes of eye contact I’m apparently expected to hold.</p><p>            “Alright, stop!” Mr. A calls, pausing his recording of Ms. Cary’s piano and halting Freddy mid-lyric. “This is kind of a long time to go just standing around, eh?”</p><p>            “Definitely,” I say immediately, relieved. <em>Will he cut it down a bit? Maybe we could do some cool staging where… we’re not looking at each other. Or near each other.</em></p><p>            “Would you guys feel comfortable dancing with each other?”</p><p>            <em>Well, fuck.</em> “Uh… dancing?”</p><p>            Mr. A raises an eyebrow. “Yes? No? What do you think?”<br/>            “Haze’s hands are freezing cold,” Leandro tells Mr. A, grinning. “But I can. I mean, we can. I mean, Haze, do you mind? A little waltzing between friends?”<br/>            And with that friggin <em>glowing</em> smile trained on me, I’m really not at fault for what comes out of my mouth. “Yeah, of course.”</p><p>            Which is how I end up waltzing with Lee for the second time in one day, my heart still thumping hard enough that he should be able to see the blood rushing through my cheeks, or at least hear it pounding away. I hope he thinks the way I glance down and duck my head when I step on his foot is because that’s how I’m playing the character.</p><p>            “You think Orsino’s into Cesario by now?” I whisper to Leandro, just to do something other than alternate between staring at him and staring at my feet.</p><p>            “Definitely,” Leandro says, a hint of a laugh in his voice. Still, his face is almost serious as he looks down at me. Stupid tall handsome idiot pirate. “Man’s the big gay. Bi. Well, attracted to you. I mean, you know, Cesario. Or Viola. Fuck, Shakespeare liked to mess with people’s heads, didn’t he?”</p><p>            “He sure did.” I smile, thinking of the As You Like It situation. Lee grins his crooked little grin as well.</p><p>            I realize about a minute later that Freddy is fully done singing and we are now staring at each other in an almost-empty auditorium. <em>Great. Whose line is it?</em></p><p>Hardly missing a beat, other than the several that we just did, Leandro mimes pulling out his wallet.</p><p>            “There’s for thy pains.”</p><p>            Freddy’s shit-eating grin as he swoops past me to pretend to take Lee’s offered bills makes me redder, if that’s possible. “No pains, sir. I take pleasure in singing, sir.”</p><p>            Leandro glances back at me like he’s making sure I’m still there, then looks at Freddy. “Right, um, I’ll pay thy pleasure then.”</p><p>            “Truly, sir,” Freddy sketches a bow, then adds with an altogether-too-knowing smirk, “and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.”</p><p>            <em>I wonder if Baru got the insufferableness from him,</em> I think faintly as Freddy moseys offstage.</p><p>            “Okay guys, sorry to cut you short, but tech’s expecting me to go update ‘em,” Mr. A announces. “Lee, Haiza, are you guys good with the dancing?”</p><p>            I nod faintly.</p><p>            “Right! Then that’s everything. Run your lines if there was anything you were shaky on today, practice your music—it’s sounding <em>great</em>, though, Freddy, just terrific—and I’ll see you guys next week! Happy Hallowe’en,” Mr. A says, waving to us as we hop down from the stage and collect our backpacks. “And here’s your script, Leandro. By the way, that little starstruck stare after the song is a great touch. Really funny.”</p><p>            Leandro’s mouth moves like he’s not sure what to say, then just gives the theatre teacher a nod. “Yeah. Right. Thanks, Mr. A.”<br/>            Moiz offers Leandro a lift to his block as we all pile into our parents’ old Honda. Baru seems unusually quiet, and Moiz fills the air with a recap of everyone’s reactions to his and Ivy’s ‘couple’ costume. Lee hops out, and I watch him lope up to his porch, lit by the hazy light in darkness like an angel, as Moiz pulls away from the side of the road again, taking us back home.</p><p>            “Given anymore thought to what I said?” Moiz glances at me in the rearview mirror.</p><p>            “Huh?”</p><p>            “About telling him.”</p><p>            “About telling…” I trail off and the faint memory of Moiz knocking down my bedroom door, insisting that I confess every stupid thought in my head to Lee resurfaces. <em>Ah</em>. “Hell, no. I’m fine with being friends with him, alright?”</p><p>            “Chill, Mo,” Baru says. I shoot him a surprised look; usually he’d be first in line to make fun of my embarrassingly obvious crush.</p><p>            Moiz shrugs. “Mmkay. I’m serious though, I’ll tell him.”</p><p>            I glower.</p><p>            “Oookay, change of subject. Did you guys listen to that Twelfth Night musical that Daphne showed Mr. A?”</p><p>            “Musical?” Baru wrinkles his nose. “Gay.”</p><p>            Moiz rolls his eyes.</p><p>            “No,” I answer, ignoring Baru. “Not yet.”</p><p>            Moiz shrugs again. “S’pretty good.”</p><p>            Half an hour later I’m lying on my bed, silently sobbing as Is This Not Love soars in my headphones.</p><p>            I’m not really a musical person, not unless you count Shakespeare’s more musically endowed plays. But after enjoying the accuracy to the source material of the first few songs on the soundtrack while washing dishes, I started to make an exception for <em>this </em>musical and then…</p><p>            After just hearing the opening lyrics of<em> I can tell you anything, my friend, except how I feel about you,</em> I decided I might need to sit down and listen to this particular song uninterrupted.</p><p>            <em>Is this not love? Is this not love that I feel for you?</em> I press my quivering lips together as more tears spill over. I find myself mouthing along as the woman on the soundtrack says <em>My father had a daughter loved a man,</em> and then start crying in earnest as the next chorus begins, the singer’s voice heartbreakingly sweet and strong as she sings of love for a friend.</p><p>            <em>Will I risk it all, lay bare my heart, and say it, baby? Oh, I gotta say it, baby. Is this not love?</em></p><p>I’m still crying as the next song starts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review, and have an awesome 2021!</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Many do call me Fool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again! Enjoy another Twelfth Grade</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Bellona -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            <em>I feel like ‘heaven’s dark torch’ is a bit much, but the rest is pretty accurate,</em> I decide, skimming the notebook page.</p><p>            “Belle?”</p><p>            You know what, scratch that. No such thing as ‘too much’ when we’re describing the wonder of the world that is Hermelinda’s eyes. “Mm? Sup.” I shove Heloise’s notebook back into her bag with one out-of-sight hand.</p><p>            Hermelinda squints at me. “We’re running lighting cues on the scene with the split lighting, the jail cell and the outside.”</p><p>            “Yeah, yeah, right, coming.” I stop snooping in people’s bags in a dark classroom and jog down the hall after Hermelinda. She’s wearing her dark jeans again, the ones that she embroidered a little rose into the pocket of, and her leather jacket. I follow her into the tech booth, and take my seat in front of the control panel. “Izzie’s backstage?”</p><p>            “Yeah,” she confirms, already slipping the black commset over her ears. “Babe, can you hear me? Right. Comms are working. Three cheers for that. Alrighty, go lights.”</p><p>            That’s gonna be my name for the next two months, ‘go lights.’ Better than watching her force her way through ‘Bell-oh-nah’ every time she needs my attention. <em>Err-mah-linnnn-dah</em>, my brain remarks.<em> Guess I’m a hypocrite.</em> I lower the houselights with one hand and drive up the left stage lights with the other.</p><p>            I like doing tech, honestly. Even though after Mel and I split, it probably would’ve been better to hand in my pink slip or whatever the fuck, I stuck with it and it’s stuff like this that makes me glad I did. As the distant figures move around onstage, coming into and out of the lights I offer them, my hands fly over the board of switches and dials.</p><p>            St. Erin’s has always been a kind of artsy school, and it shows in our tech set-up; <em>backstage </em>is a death trap, don’t get me wrong, but the tech booth is pretty nice. I don’t envy Izzie, as ASM. She’s probably surrounded by extremely flammable, probably-not-school-safe equipment. Even if it means an hour with my ex, I’m glad to be stationed in front of the array of command panels.</p><p>            Hermelinda keeps up a steady stream of low-voiced instructions into the comm as she handles the sound, even though there’s like <em>one</em> sound cue this scene. Loath as I am to admit it, she nails the transition from the ‘outdoors’ to the jail cell. The grating metal sound of the jail door opening, that I’m assuming she had to go out and record herself, contrasts the warm light change into the interior of the jail, exactly in unison with me.</p><p>            She shoots me a grin as Freddy walks through the ‘door,’ that moment of tech crew magic where a new world springs up on the stage with just a clever sound and lighting change hitting just right, and I find myself smiling too before I can think better of it. Then I clear my throat and go back to adjusting the lights unnecessarily.</p><p>            When our bit of rehearsal is done (we were called first, thank God), I stand, ready to scoot right out as fast as possible. Heloise was working as a stagehand for Izzie backstage, meaning most of the rehearsal was spent with tension humming between Mel and me, alone in the booth. Hermelinda, I mean.</p><p>            “Hey, Bellona.”</p><p>            I pause, halfway to disappearing out the door, and turn back. She tilts her head a little, eyes as magnetic as ever, then smiles, slow and sad.</p><p>            “I just… it’s fun doing tech again.” She sounds unsure; her concrete-sea of competence has ebbed. <em>What the hell am I saying? Heloise infected me.</em></p><p>            She pauses and I wait to see if she’s gonna say more. She doesn’t. I open my mouth, feeling like I’ve gotta say something in return. “Mel… the new kid’s got it bad for you, you know?”</p><p>            “Honey?” Mel blinks.</p><p>            I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning. “Her name’s Heloise.”</p><p>            “Sure, sure.”</p><p>            “No, seriously, she’s…” I pause. Then shrug. “You know.”</p><p>            Mel’s gaze drifts up, thoughtful, then she directs it back at me. “You think?” She’s got an almost dazzled look in her eye. <em>No shit, is it mutual? Well then. </em>Or maybe that’s just her usual dazzl<em>ing</em> look. “Huh. I’m not going to break her heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”</p><p>            I shrug again, hoping to dispel her defensive tone. “I know. That’s not your job.”<br/>            Mel snorts. “I hate that stupid saying.”</p><p>            “And I hate getting my heart broken.”</p><p>            Mel’s brow creases, then she realizes what I mean and laughs. “Damn, really? Good luck with Ivy, then. She’s a hottie.”</p><p>            My gaze skids shyly to the window over her shoulder and I snort, ducking my head. “Yeah. That’s appreciated. I’ll see you around, Mel.”</p><p>            “See you, sweetheart.”</p><p>            And even though that’s probably up there with the most awkward conversations I’ve ever had, I head to room 209 to grab my bag with lighter feet that I’ve had in a long time. <em>Back in the saddle.</em> Things are finally feeling normal again; I went thrifting with Blaire last weekend, helped Bruno with his university applications, and now I’m finally back on track with tech crew and Mel.</p><p>            Last thing on the list is to go on a few ill-advised dates with Ivy and descend back into a black-cherry-french-vanilla fuelled depression.</p><p>            I sling my bag over my shoulder and give Heloise’s half-open backpack a guilty look. I’ve always been a bit of a snoop, and damn it, I was curious what she’s always scribbling away at when there’s a lull in tech rehearsals. As it turns out; poetry. Thirsty, thirsty poetry. I can’t really blame her; if I had a poetic streak and I was in the middle of my Mel-crush, I would’ve been doing the exact same thing. Besides, her poems aren’t even bad, in my totally unqualified opinion.</p><p>            I pause in my journey to my locker so I can grab my stuff and go home, standing right in front of the door that’ll spit me out at the top of the auditorium. Then I pull it open. <em>What the hell, right?</em> I shuffle down the carpeted aisle until I reach the first row of chairs where the cast is hanging out. They must be on break or something; everyone’s chatting and eating granola bars and leftover Hallowe’en candy.</p><p>            “Hey, Belle! Sit!” Izzie calls, patting one of the springy red theatre chairs in the row she’s sitting in with her friends. And of course, among her friends is...</p><p>            <em>Here goes nothing.</em> I shamble over and plop down between her and Heloise. Right in front of—</p><p>            “Mel didn’t wanna come down?” Ivy asks, leaning over and resting her arms on top of the back of Izzie’s chair. I try not to look her in the eye.</p><p>            “Naw, you know how she is,” I answer, gazing aimlessly over the stage.</p><p>            “No, I don’t,” Ivy laughs, a little too close to my ear for me to be entirely sane, then directs a question to Heloise. “How’re things with Mel?”</p><p>            Heloise blushes. “I dunno.”</p><p>            “Don’t tease her, Ivy,” I mutter, feeling a little guilty for snooping in Heloise’s notebook now that I’m seeing how shy she is about the crush.</p><p>            “Just trying to nudge things along,” Ivy answers with an easy shrug, then shoots me a mischievous look that <em>doesn’t </em>make me freeze like an animal in crosshairs. “Mel needs a rebound, don’t you think?”</p><p>            “She’s over the break-up,” I bite off.</p><p>            Heloise’s eyes widened. “You guys dated?”</p><p>            Izzie puffs a surprised laugh. “You didn’t know? Damn, yeah, Belle and Mel were together for like, what a year?”</p><p>            I nod, feeling my lips purse until they’ve disappeared into my mouth. Heloise seems to shrink in her chair, and I give her a look. “Hey, it’s okay. I know you’ve got a thing for her, and I’m pretty sure she’s interested. So like. I dunno, shoot your shot or whatever. I’m over her.”</p><p>            Heloise shakes her head, even the tip of her nose turning red as she denies it. “I’m not!”</p><p>            I huff a laugh, lean over, and lower my voice so even Izzie next to me and Ivy, nearly on my shoulder, can’t hear me. “Then whose eyes were you calling ‘obsidian at midnight?’”</p><p>            She makes a noise comparable to someone pinching the opening of a balloon to let out the air very slowly and very squeakily.</p><p>            “Sorry, dude, I shouldn’t have looked. But you’re a good poet,” I add awkwardly, immediately regretting saying anything as Heloise goes from red to mauve. “I’m sorry. Um… listen, I wrote like, a love song for Mel in grade ten and sang it to her. So I feel like… we understand each other.”</p><p>            “What are you two whispering about?” Ivy leans closer and I push her off with my shoulder.</p><p>            “Mind your damn business.”</p><p>            She laughs and I forget to not smile like an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Daphne -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I mostly try to stay out of Ivy’s love-life-drama. Not because I don’t like drama: Obviously I’m really into musical theatre, and also I can’t resist gossip sometimes, but I know that it can be a sore subject for Ivy and I’d just rather not participate.</p><p>            <em>That being said.</em></p><p>            Something is clearly different about Bellona Aiken, because as far as I know, Ivy’s been after her for longer than every other crush of hers combined. And for the longest time, I didn’t know why and didn’t really want to ask and find out exactly why that is. I kind of assumed it had nothing to do with any characteristic of Bellona’s other than her disinterest.</p><p>            Now I’m starting to understand what someone might find attractive about a girl whose first name starts with B and has the last name Aiken.</p><p>            “You’re seriously so good at this!” Blaire exclaims, waving her script for effect. “You’re making me look bad.”</p><p>            “Look bad for <em>who</em>,” I laugh, trying not to go <em>too</em> red at her over-the-top compliments. We’re sitting in a park, me perched on a bench and her sitting across from me in her wheelchair, mostly populated by shrieking toddlers and their parents at this time of Sunday.</p><p>            “Look bad for me! I can’t go onstage with you stealing every scene you’re in!”</p><p>            I redden further. Being pale as sour cream has a distinct downside, even if I don’t usually get embarrassed easily. “Oh, come on, I’m just reading the lines like… I don’t know, like anyone would.”</p><p>            “Well don’t start <em>trying</em> to act or you might incur an audience,” Blaire giggles, gesturing again with her script to encompass the aforementioned shrieking toddlers.</p><p>            I pretend to shudder and laugh too. “<em>You’re</em> the one who seems to have no problem memorizing this stuff. What’s your secret?”</p><p>            Blaire flicks her hair, which continues to float in a perfect cloud around her head. If I tossed my head like that I’d need to get out the comb in my purse, which I really only have because I like to shower before school and if I don’t comb it it gets frizzy. Which, yes, Ivy teases me mercilessly for doing in first period despite the armada of hair care and dye products in our shared bathroom.</p><p>            “Pure talent, I’m afraid.” She bats her eyelashes. “And also I need to prove to Mr. A that casting Bruno instead of me as the full-Toby was a terrible choice.”</p><p>            “He’s two years older than you,” I point out.</p><p>            She shrugs and leans back in her wheelchair. “Pshaw. He lacks my,” she makes a show of rolling her r’s, “rrrraw charrrisma.”</p><p>            “Was that Italian?” I wheeze.</p><p>            “No, it was <em>charrrrisma</em>.”</p><p>Which hardly makes sense, but we devolve into hysterics anyway. Blaire has the most wonderfully infectious laugh; it starts as a bit of a squawk and then transitions into deep-throated guffaws, and I can’t help laughing harder when I hear it.</p><p>When we finally come up for air, Blaire answers somewhat more hoarsely, “No, really, the only way to memorize your lines is to just keep doing them over and over again until they stick.”<br/>            So we keep practicing, and practicing, and practicing, until my tongue starts tripping over itself and my cheeks feel like they’re stuffed in cotton. Finally, we reach the last scene and Blaire finishes with her last little chunk.</p><p>“If he may be conveniently delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offense with my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.” She’s almost out of breath as she finishes, then pretends to turn away from the empty air that is representing Feste and back toward me. “Come by and by to my chamber.” She usually delivers the proposition in an exaggeratedly husky purr with a cheesy wink, but we’re both so worn out that her voice rests in a voice that’s normal, albeit a little low and raspy, and she leaves off the wink.</p><p>More than anything else, that’s when I realize my cheeks are tinged red and my heart is thundering in my chest. I try to laugh it off, but when Blaire’s huff disappears much faster and she just starts looking at me and smiling, it suddenly feels kind of hard to catch my breath.</p><p>“Okay, I need to drink something hot ASAP or my whole voice is gonna collapse,” Blaire rasps eventually, her smiling hiding in one corner of her mouth. <em>She has dimples,</em> some part of me that hasn’t shut down realizes.</p><p><em>Here we go,</em> my brain decides.</p><p>
  <em>            Here we go, what?</em>
</p><p>            “Yeah, I’d love to!” Blaire says, face splitting right back into a beautiful smile.</p><p>            <em>Love to what?</em></p><p>            “Have you ever been to Tealish? C’mon, c’mon, I’ll show you!” And Blaire’s wheeling down the park path before I catch up and realize, <em>Yeah, I definitely just asked her out on a date. Did I word it that way? Does she know I like her? Damn it, brain, the second person you’ve been attracted to in four years and you asked her on a date without telling me you were going to do it?</em></p><p>I’ve been fairly confident I’m demi since I started questioning, found the definition, and went ‘Oh, there’s a word for that?’ Now I can officially say both attractions I’ve experienced have taken hold like a dysfunctional relative turning up on your doorstep requesting bed and board. Hopefully this one won’t explode into flames and geysers of pain and embarrassment like the Thomas situation.</p><p>            Told you I have a dramatic streak.</p><p>            And I know that I’m a little biased because I’m in the <em>middle </em>of the crush rather than looking back at it with the benefit of hindsight, but as we’re sitting on stools, sipping the hot mugs and looking out the window, I’m starting to think this time is different.</p><p>            Blaire laughs at something I say, then reaches out to rest her hand on my shoulder for just a second. I feel my cheeks flush again. <em>Well, if it does explode in flames and geysers of heartbreak or whatever, </em>I think, taking a long drink and looking out across the street at the people walking, <em>I guess I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>- Heloise -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>When rehearsal ends and I’ve recovered enough from the mortification of learning that Belle snooped in my notebook, I walk up the aisle to the top of the auditorium, where the door to the second floor is. I feel like I’ve gotten pretty well adjusted to the new school and its layout, but I keep forgetting to bring down my bag when me and Izzie leave the tech booth to go hang out with the cast, which means after rehearsal I always have to go back up to the tech booth.</p><p>Hopefully Mel hasn’t locked up yet or my backpack will be trapped in there until I can track her down.</p><p>When I reach the door of the booth, my hand freezes on the handle. I stand very still, ears straining, and… <em>Yeah, someone’s definitely crying in there.</em> My heart starts to thrum faster as I debate what to do. One option is abandon my bag forever and run away. Or duck in there and pretend to be blind, grab my bag, and <em>then </em>run. Or…</p><p>I tug open the door slowly.</p><p>            Mel is slumped across the tech board, crying in soft, low heaves.</p><p>            I freeze again. <em>Last chance to pretend you never saw her.</em></p><p>            “Mel? Are you… are you okay?”</p><p>            She doesn’t move, still hiding her face in her hair that has fanned out across the table like a puddle of shimmery oil. Then her sobs stop and she answers quietly, “No, not really.”</p><p>            Before I can weigh my pros and cons again, I’m easing myself into the chair next to hers and gently brushing her hair away from her face. She peers up at me through the couple of strands that stick to her teary cheeks. Her eyes are rimmed with red and her cheeks gleam from the wetness of her tears.</p><p>            “What’s going on?” I keep my voice soft like I would when Penny has anxiety attacks, and keep my hand next to her head if she needs something to hold onto. <em>What are you doing, Heloise? You two aren’t exactly the best of friends. You’re probably intruding.</em> But worrying about overstepping can come later.</p><p>            “I can’t drive,” she finally rasps, then laughs humourlessly. “Fucking stupid, right? But I can’t—I—university applications are due soon, and I don’t even know where I want to go. And I don’t have a job, and I can’t drive—I’m just… it’s too much.” Her breath stutters as she descends back into panic. “I’m not… I’m not keeping up.” She makes a kind of whimper sound, then turns her face away from me.</p><p>            “You feel overwhelmed,” I name it gently, and rest my hand on her back as her sobs fade again. “It’s November, Mel. It’s one day. I can’t drive either. You’re not falling behind, okay?”<br/>            “But if I don’t get into university, then I can’t get a job, and if I don’t get a job, then what the hell am I going to do?”</p><p>            “You’re gonna breathe, okay? You’re doing fine right now. What are you going to have to do to get your driver’s license?”</p><p>            “I have to do my driver’s ed, the online training stuff, and I have to learn how to do a three-point turn! I don’t even know what that is!”</p><p>            “It’s okay, your instructor will teach you, won’t they?”</p><p>            “I have to book lessons, though, and I hate talking to people on the phone. I’m not good at that stuff.”</p><p>            “It’s scary. I don’t like it either,” I agree. “But you’re one of the bravest people I know.”</p><p>            Mel huffs from her faceplant on the table. “But you don’t really know me. We met like, a month ago.”</p><p>            “Sure I know you. I know that you wear those red headphones all the time. I know that you bring two full thermoses of coffee to most rehearsals. I know that you know the tech booth like the back of your hand. I know that Izzie and Belle respect you a lot. I know that you don’t like to talk to people on the phone.”</p><p>            Mel’s breath starts to steady and I continue, keeping my voice gentle and even.</p><p>            “I know that you love your brothers and you have a big momma bear streak. I know that people think you’re responsible for making girls gay.” Mel laughs. “I know you like that leather jacket. I know that you’re bad with names, and I know that you care a lot about making this play really good, and I know that you’re going to make sure it goes off perfectly, and I know that you’re gonna succeed because you’re one of the smartest, most competent leaders I’ve ever worked for.”</p><p>            Finally, Mel peels herself off the table and gives me a limpid look out of her semi-bloodshot eyes. “Jesus. You’re good at that. I’m… uh, sorry for getting all weepy on you.”</p><p>            “You don’t have to apologize for getting overwhelmed.” I shake my head. “It happens to everyone, sometimes.”</p><p>            “Yeah, but losing my mind because I’m not learning to drive fast enough is kind of stupid, isn’t it?” Mel huffs.</p><p>            “No, I don’t think it’s stupid.”</p><p>            She holds my gaze for a second and I freeze again, wondering what she’s going to do or say. Then she smiles slightly and says,</p><p>            “Okay, well now that you’ve done something for me, I want to give something back to you,” she announces and stands, then takes my hand.</p><p>            Sending a quiet prayer to whatever god cares to hear that my hands aren’t sweaty and also that I don’t have a stroke, I grab my bag and follow Mel into the hallway. She walks purposefully and so fast that I have to jog to keep up as usual, but when we reach the end of the hall she stops abruptly.</p><p>            “Through here.”</p><p>            It’s a door I’ve hardly taken note of; nondescript beige, with a small window whose glass is criss-crossed with wires that make it hard to even see into the stairwell that lies beyond. More concerningly, there’s a small ‘do not enter’ sticker on it. Further increasing my concern that I’m about to be quietly kidnapped, Mel looks left and right, then clicks down the handle of the door and pushes it open.</p><p>            The stairwell is silent, lit by fluorescent beams on the ceiling, and slightly colder than the air of the school. Undaunted by the horror-movie setting, Mel starts off down the stairs and disappears down several flights before I’ve even caught my breath. The clanging of the metal against her boots is a little jarring, but after a quick gulp, I hurry after her.</p><p>            “Where are we going?” I call down.</p><p>            “You’ll see!”</p><p>            We reach the bottom of the stairwell, the air becoming cold and heavy like we’re underground, and Mel pulls open another similar door with a large, round sticker proclaiming whatever lies beyond as ‘F.’</p><p>            I follow her through the door, skin prickling both from the cold and nervous anticipation.</p><p>            “Tunnels,” I breathe.</p><p>            It’s not exactly the most jaw-dropping sight; they’re large, round cement paths splitting off from a main chamber that houses a couple of abandoned-looking golf carts, humming with the sound of more fluorescent beams. The ground is a little dusty but mostly clean, and there’s a faint smell of mildew and stale-ish air.</p><p>            “St. Erin’s used to be a university’s building,” Mel explains as she steps into the main room. “It couldn’t compete with Ryerson or U of T, so it eventually got shut down and the different buildings were repurposed. Our auditorium used to be a lecture hall, I think. The whole university was connected by these tunnels, but most of the other buildings blocked off their tunnels.”</p><p>            “Are we… trespassing?” I ask, taking a hesitant step into the room and peering down one of the tunnels.</p><p>            “Dunno. But no harm, no foul, right?” She grins. “I’m not dealing crack down here, it’s just… a nice place to walk around and think.”</p><p>            I’m about to reply, then freeze as a soft howling sound drifts down one of the tunnels, echoing eerily. “What the heck was that?”</p><p>            Mel practically giggles, a more girlish and relaxed sound than I’ve ever heard from her. “Some of the ventilation grates make the wind sound a little…”</p><p>            “Blumhouse-esque?”</p><p>            “You like horror movies?”</p><p>            “Yeah.” I blush a little under her approving look. “How’d you find out about this place?”</p><p>            “One of my orientation leaders in grade nine was very chill. He said it’s haunted, which I doubt.” Mel laughs. “Do you believe in ghosts?”</p><p>            I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. I think that noise was the wind, though.”</p><p>            “Well, if there is a ghost down here, I’m sure we’ve gotten to at least third base,” Mel declares, surveying the tunnels. “I’m the only one who comes down here much.”</p><p>            “Thanks for showing me,” I offer shyly.</p><p>            She turns back to me and smiles. “Yeah, I figured you’d like a place to write in your notebook without Belle pouncing the second you leave.”</p><p>            I flush redder.</p><p>            “I didn’t look,” she promises. “I just know that Belle’s hella nosy. Anyway. Um, you can come down here whenever, just try not to let anyone see you.”</p><p>            “I thought you said this wasn’t trespassing!”</p><p>            Mel shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Julio -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “Enter Malvolio!” Mr. A calls.</p><p>            I crack my knuckles, smooth my hoodie, and take a deep, deep breath.</p><p>            <em>Here we go.</em></p><p>            The scene starts strong, as usual. I stroll onstage, stretching out my arms as much as feels normal like Mr. A told me to. “'Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion.”</p><p>            <em>Channel Bruno. Channel Bruno. All the girls are in love with me even though I’m a smarmy moron.</em> “Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think on ’t?”</p><p>            Bruno himself hisses his line behind me and I pause. I never know what to do in these parts, where Malvolio’s not supposed to hear the other people onstage but still has to wait to do his next line. I find my hands drifting back into my pockets and yank them out again before Mr. A stops the scene to berate me.</p><p>            “To be Count Malvolio!” I announce, and then awkwardly pause again. They’re not even <em>trying</em> to be quiet. Malvolio’s gotta be deaf. “There is example for ’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.”</p><p>            I start to flush in advance as I remember what the next part is.</p><p>            “Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state—” I mumble. Then even more flatly, “Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown, having come from a daybed, where I have left Olivia sleeping…”</p><p>            I hurry through the rest, willing my face not to go scarlet. Mr. A stops us before we get to the letter.</p><p>            “Julio…” He sounds a little tired. I’m already bristling. “Let’s take five, okay? Get your energy up and we’ll try again.”</p><p>            <em>I don’t think a Cliff bar’s gonna do it.</em> Still, I hop off stage and cross to the scratchy chair where I left my bag. I hear a thump as someone drops into the one next to me.</p><p>            “What’s going on with you?” It’s Cory.</p><p>            “Whadayamean, what’s going on with me?” I echo through a mouthful of Cliff bar.</p><p>            The chair creaks as Cory leans back. “I dunno. You’re a good actor, Julio. But you’re like… holding back, it seems like.”</p><p>            I frown.</p><p>            “I mean, you’re hardly projecting. We can’t hear you down here,” she says. “Which is not a problem you usually have.”</p><p>            Yeah, growing up with Lee and Mel required perfecting a snarl that could be heard through many floors of a house. “So?”</p><p>            “So what’s the problem with <em>this </em>scene in particular? Is it Bruno?”</p><p>            “<em>No</em>, it’s not Bruno.” I’m flushing brighter, I know I am. “It’s just… embarrassing stuff. Literally the whole scene is about me making an ass out of myself.”</p><p>            “No, dumbass, it’s about <em>Malvolio </em>making an ass out of himself,” Cory corrects. “He’s just wearing your face.”</p><p>            I send a searing look in her direction.</p><p>            “Damn, listen. Word of advice. If you cover your whole face in clown make-up, no one will know it’s you.” Cory snorts. “You got this part. Malvolio’s a sleazy, social-climbing dirtbag. Lean in. Make every person in the audience want to leap up and wring your neck.”</p><p>            “That seems dangerous.”</p><p>            “Make a fool of yourself, Julio. You’re not looking any better by mumbling through your lines. Go get your fucking clown shoes and put on a show.”</p><p>            Right on cue, Mr. A calls us back over. I scowl at Cory again, then consider her words. “You’re bailing me out if this goes south.”</p><p>            “Yeah, I’ll go get the clown car.”</p><p>            I hiss at her like a wet cat, then stalk back into the wings. As Bruno, Freddy, Blaire, Daphne, and Baru move through their introductory bit, Cory’s words ring in my ears. <em>If you cover your whole face in clown make-up, no one will know it’s you. </em>All or nothing. This isn’t really the kind of thing I can half-ass. <em>So whole-ass it. Get that whole ass onstage,</em> Cory tells me in my brain.</p><p>            Here comes my cue. Last chance to remove my ass from the stage. Nope, too late.</p><p>            So I fucking swan onstage and inject every last ounce of smarmy, greasy smugness I can muster into my voice as I say, “'Tis but <em>fortune</em>, all is fortune.” Then I make a point of pausing like I’m admiring myself in a fountain, and add, “Maria once told me she did affect me.” I pause again to waggle my eyebrows at the audience, tapping into more of Cory than Bruno. “And I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of <em>myyyy </em>complexion.” I fan myself.</p><p>            This time, as Bruno and the others start chattering, I continue to fluff up my own hair and vogue for some imaginary camera. And maybe I look ridiculous, but that’s not my problem, I’m blind. The audience can cringe.</p><p>            The moment ‘Peace, I say’ is out of Bruno’s mouth, I nearly yell, “<em>To be COUNT Malvolio!</em>”</p><p>            Hardly waiting for the people behind me, I continue, working myself into a near-delirious state of fantasizing. “There is example for ’t! The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe!”</p><p>            As Blaire exclaims, “Look how imagination blows him!” I close my eyes and sway a little like I’m sleepwalking.</p><p>            “Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state…” I pause just long enough for Bruno and then add, “Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown, having come from a daybed, where I have… ahem, <em>left Olivia sleeping</em>—”<em> Clown make-up, clown make-up, clown make-up.</em> I plaster a queasy smile over my face like I’m silently beaming to the audience,<em> Don’t you hate me? Don’t you hate this little shit?</em></p><p>            Bruno’s ‘Fire and brimstone!’ comes out much more energetically, and I’m starting to think I’m succeeding. Mr. A isn’t jumping in to stop it.</p><p>            “And then to have the humor of state, and after a demure travel of regard, telling them <em>I know my place </em>as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my <em>kinsman </em>Toby—” Mid-line, it’s starting to click into place. <em>That’s what I wrote, right? That Malvolio wants to kill Toby.</em> I imagine Bruno, his singing and arrogance, and think, <em>But what would kill Toby more dead than being lower-ranked than Malvolio? This is what it’s about. Revenge.</em> “Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up watch, or play with some rich jewel.”</p><p>            <em>Here it is,</em> I think, and mime settling onto a throne. “Toby approaches, curtsies there to me—”</p><p>            “Shall this fellow live?” Bruno hisses.</p><p>            <em>No, no, you won’t.</em> “I extend my hand to him thus,” I declare, stretching my hand out and fluttering my fingers, “quenching my familiar smile,” and flash the ill-feeling smile again, “with an <em>austere </em>regard of control.”</p><p>            “And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?” Bruno snaps, sounding like he’s gotten closer. I grin.</p><p>            “Saying, ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece give me this prerogative of speech.’” I press my hand to my chest in false sincerity, then smile beautifically. “You must amend your drunkenness.”</p><p>            “Out, <em>scab!</em>” Bruno growls.</p><p>            Then I wave my hand. “Besides, you waste the <em>treasure </em>of your time with a foolish knight—”</p><p>            “That’s me, I warrant you,” Baru comments.</p><p>            “One Sir Andrew,” I finish, shaking my head like it’s nothing short of a tragedy.</p><p>            “I knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool,” Baru says wisely.</p><p>            “Alright!” Mr. A calls. “Alright. Wow, okay, Julio, what was in that energy bar?”</p><p>            I grin again, feeling my face start to colour as I take stock of  my whole performance there. “I, uh… Cory gave me some good advice.”</p><p>            “I… wow.” Mr. A pauses, then says, “Okay. Well, you nailed that, and if you manage every scene with that much energy and drama, then we’re in good shape for opening night.”</p><p>            <em>A month and half,</em> I realize, and for the first time, start to feel pretty excited after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hopefully I remember to publish again lol sorry fellas</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Had I but Followed the Arts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Haiza -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            We’re called first for costumes, which seems innocent enough in itself, but it’s actually a targeted attack meant to destabilize my entire universe by Satan himself, Mr. A.</p><p>            By which I mean, Leandro is wearing purple.</p><p>            And it’s not <em>just</em> that he’s wearing purple. It kind of is. In no particular order, however, here are my other grievances: He smells really good, he’s wearing that cute little bandana thing his sister got him, he’s wearing <em>period-appropriate purple velvet</em>, and Mr. A gave me no warning for that.</p><p>            Not even a ten minute break between ‘We’re doing costumes today!’ and ‘You’re about to see your beautiful best friend dressed in Elizabethan finery and you’re not going to be able to handle it!’</p><p>            As it stands, I gape, feel faint, probably blush, and finally say, “Well, you look... fine in that.”</p><p>            “Fine!” Lee yelps, then swoons, clutching his lacy chest. “Cesario, you wound me, sirrah.”</p><p>            “He’s done changing!” I shout and Mr. A comes bounding in.</p><p>            He claps his hands when he sees Lee. The purple velvet takes the form of a heavy shirt, ending around his thighs and giving him long, drapey sleeves that he’s already enjoying swinging around way too much. The tunic is embroidered with gold thread that forms long lines down to his belt, and whoever Mr. A consulted for the costumes apparently supplied Lee with a gaudy silver rose pendant.</p><p>            “Incredible!” Mr. A exclaims, then sweeps into a goofy bow. “Duke.”</p><p>            Lee accepts it with a gracious nod. “Ahem, indeed.”</p><p>            “How’s the fit? Loose, tight?” The teacher starts a wide loop around him, inspecting the costume.</p><p>            “Fits really good, actually.” He twirls. “I can waltz in this fine. C’mere, Haze.”</p><p>            “I think I need to do mine next,” I manage.</p><p>            “Ess-em-ache, Haze, smh-my-head,” he announces.</p><p>            Mr. A blinks at this, then backs up to the door to the auditorium. “Great. Well. I’ll leave you to it.”</p><p>            I give him a tiny wave as he shuts the door behind him, leaving Lee and me alone again. We’re sitting in one of the rooms attached to the wings of the stage. Someone tacked up a cheesy cardboard star on one of the dressing room doors. It’s wilting a little, but still going strong after presumably years.</p><p>            “Your turn,” Lee trills, already starting to strip.</p><p>            I think I move faster than I have in years to get into that dressing room and away from the soon-to-be-wearing-fewer-clothes-Lee.</p><p>            The dressing room’s a little more spacious than I expected; I figured it’d be a glorified mall changing room, but there’s a bench, hangers, and a little vanity taking up one wall. <em>Make-up</em>, I realize. <em>Huh. Well, I hope Mr. A isn’t expecting anything from me on that front.</em></p><p>            Up on those hangers is my costume. Costumes, I should say.</p><p>            I tentatively remove the raggedy looking… <em>frock</em>, would be the word I’d use. <em>This must be post-shipwreck.</em> I slip it over my ‘base’ costume—black pants and undershirt—and find it settles lightly. <em>Hope the stage is warm or I’ll freeze in this. Then again, if it’s only for one scene...</em></p><p>            “Let’s see it!” Lee’s muffled exclamation instructs me.</p><p>            “It looks fine,” I tell him through the door, already peeling it off. Next is the Cesario costume. The ‘raggedy frock’ was a mixture of brown and faded purple fabric. Cesario’s costume is a powder blue vest and billowy white undershirt.</p><p>            The undershirt is loose and comfy, and I grudgingly admit that the temptation to swing my arms around and let the fabric float after them is pretty hard to resist. Then I button up the vest, tuck my hijab into place, and step out of the room.</p><p>            “What do you think?”</p><p>            Lee’s down to his track pants and black undershirt as well, and as he turns I do a valiant job of not ogling his shoulders, focusing all my attention on straightening out the vest.</p><p>            He smiles when he sees me, though it’s not his usual golden-retriever-beam. Just a little smile that presses more at one edge of his mouth than the other. Then he laughs and says, “Cesario! Sirrah, it’s you.”</p><p>            <em>He is enjoying ‘sirrah’ way too much,</em> I decide. “Duke Orsino? Why are you in your skivvies?”    </p><p>            Lee gasps, looking down at himself like he can’t believe he’s undressed. Then he gives me a coy smile and leans on the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I thought I’d make myself comfortable while I waited for you.”</p><p>            I keep up the light tone, even as my heart starts to seize up. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting, <em>Duke</em>.”</p><p>            He does a sort of open-mouthed fish gape for a second and I think I’ve crossed a line, then he recovers and runs his hand through his hair luxuriously. “Y’see, Cesario, ever since I was a small Dukeling, I’ve known that I… enjoy both caviar and filet mignon.”</p><p>            “Do they have caviar in Illyria?”</p><p>            “You are missing the point of my metaphor.”</p><p>            “You guys done in there?” Mr. A calls from out in the auditorium.</p><p>            Both Leandro and I jump, and I realize my cheeks are burning. After a quick prayer that Lee hasn’t noticed, I call back, “Yup!”</p><p>            “Can I come in?”</p><p>            “Yup!” Lee echoes, sounding a little strained.</p><p>            I back up as Mr. A enters, putting a few more barf-coloured floor tiles between me and Leandro like we’ve been caught doing something we’re not supposed to.</p><p>            “Wow, Haiza! That looks awesome! And how did the rag-dress fit?”</p><p>            “Yeah, it fit fine,” I say, trying not to look at Leandro. I think he’s looking at me.</p><p>            Mr. A nods, his brows furrowing a little like he can sense the tension between us. “Great. Okay, well, put the costumes back on the hangers, and if you have any concerns or questions let Ms. Danedozen know and she’ll make adjustments. Thanks, guys. Can you let Ivy, Bruno, and Moiz know they’re up next? I want them to keep their costumes on through rehearsal—they’ve got the fights, so I need to make sure they can move easily in them…”</p><p>            His rambling trails off and he gives us one last curious look. Then turns and walks out.</p><p>            “I have a fight too,” I remark as the door shuts behind him.</p><p>            “You call that a fight?” Leandro grins.</p><p>            The choreography Mr. A gave me and Baru for our ‘fight’ involves standing on opposite sides of the stage, swinging our swords really hard with our eyes closed, and not moving.</p><p>            “How dare you!” I’m definitely on a leftover high from the closest I’ve ever gotten to outright flirting with Lee, because on a whim, I snatch up my waterbottle off the counter and point it at him. “<em>En garde.</em>”</p><p>            His eyes gleam and he grabs his own, a much heftier metal bottle, and adopts an actual fencing stance. <em>Oh yeah, Mr. Sports. Bad thing to forget at a time like this.</em> Still, I toss my head.</p><p>            “Did they teach you how to fence at Duke school?”</p><p>            “They taught me a lot of things at Duke school,” Lee answers, and it’s the cheesiest comeback ever. And I goad him further.</p><p>            “Like what?”</p><p>            “How to eat filet mignon.”</p><p>            I start laughing, because the alternative is to consider that in the context of his <em>very</em> subtle bisexuality metaphor, and then I’d start blushing <em>fiercely</em> because as bawdy as Shakespeare is, I am an ingenue at heart.</p><p>            “That’s what I thought,” Lee huffs, and sets down his waterbottle primly.</p><p>            <em>This is alright,</em> I think, maybe just because he’s not wearing purple anymore. <em>This is just fine.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>- Corinne -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “I’m too ace for this,” I announce, snapping my script shut.</p><p>            “Don’t think that’ll go over well with Mr. A.” Moiz stuffs his own script into his bag, then stands and offers me a hand. We’re tucked backstage, watching Heloise and Isadora run around as the rehearsal winds to a close and tech finishes up. Watching my cousin try to keep up with Izzie’s long legs is very entertaining between running scenes.</p><p>            The rehearsals have slowly transitioned from specific scene work to just running as much of the show as we can manage Tuesday, and then finishing it on Thursday and polishing the rough patches. Dress rehearsal’s next week, and everything’s working, except…</p><p>            “I just can’t get that scene,” I groan as we head for the doors. It’s become a bit of a routine to hang out with Moiz until he packs Haiza, Baru, and Lee into his Honda and drives off, while I hang back for Penny and Heloise. <em>I wonder if Penny will be hanging around Baru again.</em> I’m glad she’s making friends, even if… <em>those</em> are the friends she’s making.</p><p>            Moiz nods, clumping down the stairs as I hop off the stage. “It’s weird.”</p><p>            “I’m serious, I might be too ace for this.”</p><p>            He snorts.</p><p>            “Olivia sees this guy who has previously told her he’s not interested, who is now saying he doesn’t know who she is, but is also immediately DTF,” I recite, ticking each off with a finger and then waving the three in Moiz’s face insistently. “Make it make sense.”</p><p>            “Are allo people really such a mystery?” Moiz laughs. “She wants to fuck.”</p><p>            I make a pained noise as we leave the auditorium. Sure enough, Penny is still sitting in one of the back rows with Freddy and Baru. “I don’t—it just doesn’t… <em>work</em>. There’s something not clicking.”</p><p>            When we reach the Honda with no appearance by either of Moiz’s siblings or Lee, Moiz leans against the hood and I do the same.</p><p>            “It’s like, Olivia’s this prim, proper countess. Or Duchess? Noble Lady. And she’s rejecting Orsino because she’s in mourning for her brother. And then along comes Cesario and suddenly she’s doing a one-eighty.” I rake my fingers through my hair. I cut it short last week and the trailing hair at the back is still a little uneven. Apparently kitchen scissors are not adequate replacements for professional styling equipment; wikiHow lied to me. “I don’t think Olivia’s so ruled by her horniness or whatever that grieving her brother suddenly doesn’t matter.”</p><p>            “You care about this, huh?” Moiz observes, not unkindly.</p><p>            I start nervously cracking my knuckles anyway. <em>He thinks I’m a giant nerd, doesn’t he? Well, what the hell. Maybe I am a giant nerd. </em>“Yeah. I dunno. I don’t like puzzles I can’t solve.”</p><p>            Moiz shrugs. “Maybe she wasn’t rejecting Orsino because of her brother.”</p><p>            I squint at the outside wall of the school, thinking that over. <em>Then why </em>was<em> she rejecting him?</em> “Wouldn’t marrying a duke give her a bunch of benefits though? Even if she didn’t like him, didn’t people in that era like, hardly see their spouses? I feel like marrying Orsino would’ve been a net win for Olivia.”</p><p>            “Yeah… but Olivia had a high position in her own household. Moving to somebody else’s would’ve… like, changed her position in the hierarchy.”</p><p>            <em>He sounds like Haiza,</em> I think. After she finished <em>Emma</em> she didn’t shut up about how romantic it was of Mr. Knightley to move in with Emma at the end. <em>Maybe Olivia was the same. Holding out on marriage because she wanted to hold onto power.</em> That’s a bit ruthless, but I like it. “Still, if she wanted to keep her power, how would marrying Sebastian be any different?”</p><p>            “As far as she knows, Cesario-slash-Sebastian is just some boy Orsino hired,” Moiz points out. “It’s safe for her to assume he’s not that high ranking.”</p><p>            Something finally falls into place in my head, like a free throw finally hitting the backboard in the right spot.</p><p>            “Oh! Fuck, I get it,” I exclaim, snapping my fingers. “Wait, listen. Olivia wants to hold onto power, and Orsino’s badgering her for marriage. So all she needs to do is find a guy to marry who doesn’t have some grand estate that she’ll be expected to move into, but is high ranking enough not to raise eyebrows. She gets to keep power, gets Orsino off her back, and gets the cute boy to boot.”</p><p>            Moiz eyes me. “I’m not sure either of us are qualified enough in Illyrian nobility rules to be making up conspiracy theories.”</p><p>            “The whole point of a conspiracy theory is that you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m right. Olivia just wants to marry this guy and get him moved into her house, and get Orsino to back the fuck off,” I declare. “So once Cesario stops protesting—”</p><p>            “Because she’s not talking to Cesario, she’s talking to Sebastian, who has no qualms about marrying this beautiful woman he just met,” Moiz interjects.</p><p>            “—she doesn’t look the gift horse in the mouth and just marries him on the spot.” I settle against the car, satisfied with my explanation.</p><p>            “But that’s just a theory… a Shakespeare theory!” he exclaims.</p><p>            “Thanks for watching,” I finish, and we laugh.</p><p>            Penny, Baru, Haiza, and Lee appear out of the school doors as I stop laughing and Moiz enters phase two: wheezing like an empty vacuum cleaner.</p><p>            “Ready to go?” I ask Penny, peeling myself off the side of the car and greeting her as they reach us.</p><p>            “Yeah.” She’s actually smiling. I haven’t seen that from her in a long time; definitely not since she moved in with me and my moms. She clasps Baru’s hand quickly in farewell, and turns back to me.</p><p>            “Dope. Where’s Heloise?”</p><p>            “The teacher wanted her and the A/V people to stay behind for costumes.”</p><p>            I give Lee a wave as Moiz pulls out of the parking lot, then cock my head and turn back to Penny. “What? What costumes?”</p><p>            She shrugs. “They’re playing the little parts.”</p><p>            <em>What little parts? Like, sea captain?</em> Then I imagine Mel flouncing on in her leather jacket, surrounded by people in doublet and hose. <em>Yeah, okay, I guess they’d need costumes for that. Also, what the hell even is a doublet and hose?</em></p><p>            I huff. “Well, let’s walk to the bus stop and we’ll wait there.”</p><p>            “Why can’t you drive like Moiz?” Penny asks as we go.</p><p>            “I <em>can</em>, we just don’t have a convenient second car lying around,” I explain, feeling a weird stab of defensiveness. <em>I’m a functional seventeen year old. Shut up.</em> “Why are you hanging around Baru and Fredrik?”</p><p>            “Freddy?” Her eyebrows rise. “What? We’re friends.”</p><p>            “What’s it like being friends with <em>them</em>?”</p><p>            Penny hisses a breath through her teeth and I regret my tone. <em>I sound like a judgy mom. Let her live her life, Cory.</em> “It’s great, actually. They’re nice guys.”</p><p>            “Hmm.” I run my tongue over my teeth and look at her out of the corner of my eye as we round the school and walk down the path to the street. “Sorry. I only really know what… what everyone knows about them.”</p><p>            “That Freddy’s crazy and Baru’s a douche?”<br/>            “Pretty much.”</p><p>            Penny snorts at my frankness, then looks ahead to the bus stop with a half-smile. “Well, I don’t mind them.”</p><p>            When we get to the bus stop, I start to shift from foot to foot. To warm myself up, if nothing else; it’s December man! Fuckin’ cold, and I forgot my tuque! “And uh… how are you settling into the new school, and Toronto and stuff?”</p><p>            Penny delivers me a scathingly unimpressed look. “Can we wait in silence?”</p><p>            “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” I return to staring at St. Erin’s, waiting for any sign of Heloise. Despite Penny’s gruffness, I don’t really blame her. The whole move was a little impromptu, and I’m sure she has a bunch of friends back in Amsterdam that she’s missing. <em>Probably not looking for another big sister. </em>I can’t really tell how close she and Heloise are; they seem to get along fine, but Penny spends most of her time on her computer and Heloise spends hers curled up on her bed with her notebook. <em>Maybe some friends that aren’t attached to either of us will be good for her.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Ivette -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            <em>Oh, yes. Oh, yes,</em> is all I can think as I size myself up in the dressing room mirror. <em>Oh, yes.</em> If Shego didn’t do it, I think my pirate alter-ego will do the trick. I finger the button at my collarbone thoughtfully, then pop it open and think,<em> Oh, yes.</em></p><p>            I’ve been supplied a flowing white undershirt, brown leathery vest, hoop-earring, and long black coat. With the addition of the knee-high black boots I brought from home, this Spirit-Halloween-period-costume-probably-made-for-a-guy pirate outfit is smoking hot, if I do say so myself.</p><p>            I wish I had one of those stupid triangle hats with a skull and crossbones, but maybe Mr. A thought that would be too on the nose. Still peering at the mirror, I sweep my hair over the earringless shoulder, lamenting the state of my fading dye job and dark roots. <em>Right before opening night,</em> I decide. <em>I’ll buzz it down short like Belle’s and go bright silver again. I still have some of the Arctic Fox dye. Is gold and silver tacky? Maybe Mr. A’ll let me spray paint the earring.</em></p><p>            Still, as it stands, I think I’ve got a pretty good thing going here.</p><p>            “Chop chop!” Bruno calls through the door.</p><p>            I take an extra minute to finger-comb my hair. It makes a nice, feathery un-elastic’ed ponytail over my shoulder and across the leather. <em>At least it’s still straight. That makes one of us.</em> I sashay out, ignoring Bruno’s comment about how long that took, and find Mr. A standing at the edge of the stage. He grins when he sees me.</p><p>            “What do you think?”</p><p>            “That looks great, Ivy!” he exclaims, clapping his hands like a little kid. “Is it comfortable?”</p><p>            “Yeah, really easy to move in.” I swish my arms for effect.</p><p>            “Awesome! Would it bother you to wear it for the rest of the rehearsal just so we can see if it’s alright to fight in?” he asks.</p><p>            “Oh, not a problem at all,” I say, containing the smile. “No problem.”</p><p>            <em>Oh, yes,</em> I think again, already trying to brew up an excuse to visit the tech booth. It’s gonna have to wait until after rehearsal, though; hopefully Belle will be watching.</p><p>            “Pirate boyfriend!” Moiz exclaims when he sees me.</p><p>            I strike a pose. “It’s me.”</p><p>            The rehearsal goes remarkably well. The pirate costume must have some kind of effect, because I start to get like… embarrassingly into it. I think I’m a fine actor at the best of times, but something about the light, the sounds, the costume… it’s starting to feel like an actual play.</p><p>            Haiza looks completely caught off-guard as my voice trembles on, “But oh, how vile an idol proves this god!”</p><p>            <em>Please be watching, please be watching,</em> I silently telegraph to Belle.</p><p>            “In nature there’s no blemish but the mind.” Yeah, I’m definitely overdoing it, but I clasp my chest and step back from Haiza like she’s stabbed me. “None can be called deformed but the unkind.”</p><p>            Haiza nods, possibly to herself, and finishes the scene with that same wide-eyed look. Once the whole scene wraps up, long after I’ve exited and punched Moiz for his character not giving me back my money, his sister finds me backstage.</p><p>            “Good job today, Haiza,” I greet her as she wanders over. She has such a weird, squiggly way of walking that I’m never sure if she’s walking toward me or just got blown there by the wind.</p><p>            “That was really cool, Ivette.” She offers a shy smile. “That costume’s cool too.”</p><p>            “Thanks!”</p><p>            She nods vaguely and her gaze starts to drift. “Okay. See you later.”</p><p>            I shoot Moiz, sitting with Cory against the back wall of the stage, a look. He spots his sister drifting away again and grins. <em>Now, wait a minute. He’s got a silver earring. Maybe I can just steal his,</em> I think as the stud in his ear catches the light of the backstage hallway.</p><p>            The moment Mr. A’s dismissed us, I seek out Heloise and Izzie on the other backstage wing. “What’s up with the tech booth? Is Belle there?”</p><p>            Izzie gives me an unsubtle once-over and squints. “Why?”</p><p>            “‘Cause I was gonna drop in and say hello,” I say, returning her unimpressed stare. Izzie’s never come out and said it, but I know she thinks Belle and I are a bad idea. Which… I <em>kind of</em> get; cross-friend-group contamination is always a sticky situation. <em>But I’m mature enough that if Belle and I break-up it’s not gonna like, cause some giant rift, right? Like it did when… nevermind.</em></p><p>            Izzie narrows her eyes further until they’re just scrunched up lines of pale lashes and crosses her arms.</p><p>            “I plead the fifth…?”</p><p>            She drops her skinny arms to her sides and sighs. “Fine. Yeah. She’s still there, but Mr. A wants the whole crew on scene in fifteen minutes for our fittings.”</p><p>            “You guys get costumes too?” I’m already starting to move toward the stairs of the stage, though. <em>Belle located. Begin seduction. </em>“You’re the best, Iz.”</p><p>            “Oh, shut up. Go schmooze.” Izzie flaps her hands, dismissing me, and I bolt down the stairs and then up, between aisles, toward the tech booth, tossing,</p><p>            “No one says that anymore!” over my shoulder as I go.</p><p>            Mel catches me just as I’m laying a hand on the door handle to the tech booth. She cocks a dark brow when she sees my attire, unaffected by my unbuttoned collar. “What’s the occasion, Captain Jack?”</p><p>            “Figured I’d drop in and say hi before you guys get sent off to costume fittings.” I pinch a little bit of my hair between my fingers.</p><p>            She folds her arms. “Workplace harassment, then?”</p><p>            “I distinctly recall you liking it when I came by after tech to see you,” I point out.</p><p>            Mel grins. I wish I was immune, years later, even though I know it’s a bad idea. “True, true. Don’t break her heart.”</p><p>            I stick my tongue out at her, because I’m not about to sit down and discuss how much I dislike that little moniker and how it makes me worry I’ll never be able to hold a steady relationship and everything I touch turns to dirt, and then yank open the tech booth doors and slip inside.</p><p>            “Hey, Me—” Belle swivels her chair around to greet me and stops quite suddenly. Then she swings her chair back around. “Ivy. Sup.”</p><p>            “Sup,” I repeat, stepping over the coiled wires to stand next to her chair. Probably the only time I’ll be taller than her. I lean over her little command panel, pretending to inspect it, and in a move that was completely unplanned and happened entirely by accident, my arm brushes her back. I think I hear her swallow. “I thought we were friends, but I suppose that’s all I get. Sup.”</p><p>            “I say sup to all my closest friends,” Belle says, steadily enough, and leans back in her chair. I think I hear an edge of a strain in her voice.</p><p>            “We’re close friends, then?” I ask, turning to lean against the tech desk. Belle’s wheeled herself far enough back that I’m no longer draped over her. She looks at me, resting her chin on her hand and leaning against her armrest.</p><p>            Then very slowly looks me up and down.</p><p>            <em>Damn. Alright, it’s on.</em> I’m just readying to discreetly wipe my hands on my pants and lick my lips when Belle stands. <em>Oh shit. It’s on?</em></p><p>            “Costume time,” she rasps, and turns on her heel, picking her way over the wires with surgical precision.</p><p>            And then she walks right out the door. A moment later, Mel appears in the doorway and gives me a shrug. I kind of just gape at her, and she leaves too. <em>Okay, what the hell just happened?</em></p><p>            I’m left leaning against the tech desk, dressed like a pirate, cheeks probably flaming red, and feeling like something approximating a complete and total dumbass. <em>Well. She’s got moves, that’s for sure. If I’m worried about immediately getting bored, that shouldn’t happen for a couple months,</em> the worst part of myself announces.</p><p>            I reach up and unclip the gold earring, then sweep my hair back to its natural place. <em>Damn, Belle. Damn.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Hermelinda -</strong>
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</p><p>            “I don’t know which one of you to feel sorry for,” I comment to Belle as we take the stairwell down to the backstage hallways.</p><p>            She rolls her eyes. “Feel bad for me. No one with a reputation for breaking hearts can have much of a soul, can they?”</p><p>            “She’s a tender bad girl,” I tell her, itching to pull out my phone and check notifs. My Soundcloud gets anxious if I don’t check on it and reassure it every few minutes.</p><p>            “Doubt,” Belle mutters.</p><p>            We slip through the deserted hallways—5 pm is always a weird time to be at school—and then I pull open the door to backstage. Mr. A waves us through to the dressing rooms; I’ve actually never been inside of one. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, I guess.</p><p>            “Your costumes are in there. Heloise and Isadora can get you guys figured out,” he says. “Sorry guys, I know it’s late. Mel, you’re Valentine. Belle, Curio and Officer Two.”</p><p>            “Mm, the real stars,” I murmur to her as we push through the dressing room doors. Heloise and Izzie and sitting cross-legged on a counter in front of a mirror that covers the whole wall. On the end of the room are two doors; one’s got a paper star curling at its edges tacked up on it. There’s a table to our left overflowing with muted-coloured fabric and outdated clothes, and I already know Belle’s salivating at the sight.</p><p>            Izzie swings her long legs off the counter when she sees us, but Heloise stays tucked up with her knees under her chin, peeping over them at me like an owl. She’s wearing long socks again. <em>Is that a Dutch thing?</em></p><p>            “Alright, who’s first?” I ask, looking away from Heloise. <em>Three, two, one…</em> “Okay, Belle, Izzie, you guys start.”</p><p>            Belle gives me a look out of the corner of her eye and then starts rummaging through the costume pile to find the one with the sticky note ‘Curio and Officer One’ attached to it. Izzie follows suit, and Heloise seems to retreat further into her skirt and socks on the counter.</p><p>            Once Belle and Izzie have disappeared into dressing rooms, I lean against the table and fold my arms. Then unfold them. <em>Be approachable.</em></p><p>            “Dress next week. How you feeling?”</p><p>            Heloise’s eyes get bigger like I’ve made a threat toward her family.</p><p>            “Anxious?”</p><p>            She’s quiet.</p><p>            I laugh, more to relieve my own tension than anything else. <em>Hopefully Belle and Iz can’t hear.</em> “I’m not gonna slap you. Are you okay? Need to go back down to the tunnels and breathe some musty air?”</p><p>            Then I glance down and notice my jacket’s unzipped. <em>Oops, my non-existent cleavage. That explains it.</em> I zip it up and look back at Heloise. She swings her legs off the table and swings them like she’s a little kid.</p><p>            “Is there even a dress code here?” she asks.</p><p>            I shrug. “Maybe. I’ve never been called on it. And I’m hardly the worst offender. Did you see Ivy’s pirate get-up?”</p><p>            She colours and shakes her head.</p><p>            “God, she’s pretty.” I walk over to the mirror next to Heloise and inspect my pores. I’ve been trying to get into skincare this year; bought a whole soap and a scrub, the whole nine yards. <em>My chin looks shiny. Is it supposed to be shiny?</em></p><p>            “Yeah,” Heloise agrees with a little breathy laugh.</p><p>            I eye her in the mirror. Her reflection only really shows her honey-blonde ringlets. <em>Honey. Guess that’s fitting.</em> The pet names aren’t really something I <em>brainstorm</em>, per se. I like to let the moment inspire me. “I think I’ve been going more femme lately.” I don’t know if skincare counts as make-up, but it’s the closest I’ve gotten since grade nine.</p><p>            Heloise nods. “There are so many girls who are more… boyish. We don’t have as many in Amsterdam.”</p><p>            <em>Butchless lands? I couldn’t survive.</em> Then again, I’ve also found myself attracted more femme lately. “Well, you’re going to be dressing up as a man in a minute, aren’t you?”<br/>            She pushes herself off the counter and walks over to the costume table. “Well, an old sea captain.”</p><p>            “Ooh, another pirate?” I pretend to examine my nails. <em>I can handle that. Sure. </em>Ivy looked gorgeous, and I’m over her. So it would be awesome to see a girl I’m <em>currently</em> into wearing one of those frilly blouses. <em>You’re not some ‘gay silence’ grade ten,</em> I remind myself. I’ve been wishing I could go back to grade ten, lately. But we don’t have to talk about that.</p><p>            Belle re-emerges first, managing to have her buzz-cut rumpled by the layers of frilly blue fabric Mr. A has apparently assigned her. It looks like a large tropical gull has swallowed her.</p><p>            Heloise and I stare.</p><p>            Belle smooths her peach-fuzz and deadpans, “Didn’t know Curio was Liberace, but a’ight.”</p><p>            “We’re all gonna look like dumbasses, you’ll be in good company. Me next!” I decide, snatching up the frilly pink affair postmarked ‘Valentine.’<em> Creative colour choice.</em></p><p>The dressing room’s not too cramped—enough room to hang up my jacket and strip off my shirt to replace it with the undershirt provided. It doesn’t stink, which is a relief. I examine my appearance in the mirror with just the white shirt; it looks unexpectedly good. The starchy-white contrasts my skin and hair, exaggerating my brows and the contours of my face.</p><p>            Then I level a stare at the pink thing on the hanger.<em> Alright. Let’s make this work.</em></p><p>            “You’re not supposed to wear it like that,” is what Belle says when she sees me. Heloise has been replaced with Izzie, who grins when she sees me and flashes a thumbs-up.</p><p>            I’ve bunched the vest around my elbows and forearms like it’s an elaborate shawl and swept my hair across my shoulders. Valentine’s ready for a night at the theatre. “It looks goofy.”</p><p>            “We’re all gonna look like dumbasses, you’ll be in good company,” Belle mimics.</p><p>            I huff at her. The dressing room door opens and I spin, adding an extra flick to my chin so my hair flies out over my shoulder, and Heloise freezes in the doorway, staring. She’s buttoned up to the chin in denim.</p><p>            “What do you think?” I tilt my head and give her my most restrained <em>come hither</em> smile.</p><p>            She sort of burbles for a moment like a toaster dunked in water, then looks down and starts fiddling with her buttons insistently. “Uh. That’s. Um. Pink? Wow.”</p><p>            Satisfied, I shrug it up onto my shoulders and pull it properly across my chest. “Alright, this fits. I’m gonna go talk to Mr. A. Peace.”</p><p>            Heloise is still faintly squeaking when I stroll out.</p><p>            I hit the Summerhill market on the way home to pick up more decaf and a few odd groceries, a homebrewed remix of Ivy Levan hammering away at my eardrums through my headphones. The <em>swchoop</em> of the scoop against the coffee beans is oddly melodic. <em>I could probably make a beat if I messed with the settings enough.</em> I push the scoop through the basin for another minute, then resolve to come back later with a better recorder than my phone.</p><p>            Tossing my second bag of beans into the cart, I make my way toward the cashier. As the woman in front of me purchases her thirty-seven starfruits—<em>Probably a math teacher</em>—my gaze slides idly over the shelves of candy, vitamins, and sale items.</p><p>            <em>Made in the Netherlands.</em></p><p>            I take one step out of the line and grab the red packet off the shelf, then examine the labelling. Most of it’s in a language I can’t read.</p><p>            <em>Netherlands’ most popular candy!</em> the little yellow starburst brags. It looks like a bunch of black pellets, but that’s a pretty compelling smiling-child-graphic.</p><p>            <em>3.49. Oh, what the hell.</em></p><p>            I toss it in the basket. <em>Christmas present, call it. And if she can’t catch </em>that <em>hint, I’ll hire a fucking skywriter.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Most Wonderful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anotha one</p><p>Thank you so much for the comments ;-; they mean the werld</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>- Penelope -</strong>
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</p><p>            “Oh, hey Penelope.” Isadora leans diagonally across the doorway of the Hämäläinen household. The mansion, I should say; I kind of got the impression they were well off, but holy shit. The sprawling white-and-brick house takes up half the block with its wrap-around porch, porticoes, manicured garden and lawn, and <em>turrets</em>. “Your sister’s already here.”</p><p>            “I, uh, actually…” I swallow. <em>Probably just shouldn’t’ve come.</em></p><p>            “She’s here for us, Isa,” Freddy shouts from somewhere within the house and I sag a little with relief.</p><p>            “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to crash the party,” I mumble.</p><p>            “Oh! Great, well, c’mon in.” Her body language immediately turns friendly and she waves me into their spacious mudroom. I knock my snowy boots against the edge of their house, then step in.</p><p>            Mariah Carey is playing over their home speakers, they’ve got wreaths and bells and holly boughs as far as the eye can see, angels perched on immaculately varnished dark oak side tables, and the whole house smells like hot chocolate and apple cider. Heloise was invited over by Isadora for a little Christmas party with Daphne, Ivette, and Bellona, and about a day later I got a perplexing, emoji-filled text from Freddy that I’m pretty sure meant he’d have Baru and I over as well.</p><p>            “They’re in the basement,” Isadora informs me as I yank my boots off with some difficulty—the soles got torn up and now every time I try to pull them off my feet get stuck—and waves me toward a narrow hallway next to their staircase.</p><p>            <em>Well, that’s reassuring, </em>I think as Isadora disappears into one of the open-concept living spaces IKEA magazine display showroom rooms, and hear a giggle a moment later. A few choice flashbacks of girls whose parents forced them to invite me to their sleepovers resurface and I cringe. <em>I’m not hanging out with a bunch of catty girls, though.</em></p><p>            I hurry down the hall toward the basement door before I can find out how tall Isadora and Freddy’s parents are.</p><p>            Their basement is just as capacious as you’d expect from the subterranean version of a huge house; wall-to-wall cream carpeting, some kind of elaborate tv-and-gaming-console set-up on the far wall, and another widescreen surrounded by caramel leather couches and the kind of sequin-y pillows that look super uncomfortable to lean against on the other side of the basement.</p><p>            In the middle of the basement, Freddy is chasing Baru with an electric razor.</p><p>            I pause at the base of the stairs, watching as Baru swerves around the couch and Freddy vaults over it after him like some kind of ginger panther.</p><p>            “Alright, what the hell is going on?” I finally ask, trying not to laugh.</p><p>            Freddy pauses, clicks the razor off, and swings around to look at me with a wide smile. “Penn State, so good to see you.”</p><p>            His nicknames don’t really stick, but it’s better than being Penny all the time. I look over at Baru, who has taken the opportunity to hide behind a perfectly white arm chair.</p><p>            “He’s gone mad!” Baru shouts.</p><p>            “I am doing this for your <em>own good</em>, Barracuda.” Freddy waves the razor, looking to me for back-up.</p><p>            “Yeah, I’m lost,” I admit.</p><p>            Baru pops up over the chair, looking indignant. “He’s trying to shave my head.”</p><p>            “Not <em>shave</em> it, I am merely staving off the approaching mullet that your horrendous grooming habits have incurred,” Freddy retorts, clicking the razor back on with a <em>bzzz</em>.</p><p>            “That seems dangerous,” I observe as the chase begins again. “Don’t cut his ear off, Freddy.”</p><p>            Baru seizes one of the fancy pillows and holds it up in front of his head. “Back off. The mullet stays. Penelope’s got way more than a mullet and I don’t see you jumping at her like a crazy person.”</p><p>            “An excellent point.” Freddy spins on his heel and points his razor at me. He’s wearing a godawful green, knitted Christmas sweater covered in embroidered ornaments with a tasteful font pronouncing <em>Balls.</em> “Want a haircut?”</p><p>            “Hell yeah,” I say before I consider what I’m getting myself into. Then I touch my hair, growing ever-longer since I stopped taking care of it, and think, <em>Yeah. Fuck it. I don’t want all this hair and this mascara and shit. New country, new me. What’s Dad gonna do? What’s Mom gonna do?</em></p><p>            Freddy pauses, then grins. “Seriously?”</p><p>            I shrug. “I think it’d look good.”</p><p>            “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Baru mutters, dropping the pillow.</p><p>            “She’s getting herself into a <em>great </em>situation,” Freddy exclaims, flapping one hand like Baru’s a mosquito. “I’m going to go to hairdressing school. I’m sure I can buzz off a bit of hair.”</p><p>            “You haven’t gone there <em>yet</em>,” Baru points out.</p><p>            Before they start bickering again, I walk a little ways into the basement and sit on one of the couches. “You don’t have to. But I don’t really like my hair long.”</p><p>            Freddy grins wider and Baru slaps his face. After inspecting me for a moment, Freddy announces, “Right. Baru, help her wet her hair. I’ll go get my stuff.”</p><p>            As ominous as <em>Freddy’s stuff</em> sounds, I’m weirdly excited. It’s been a long time since I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. Baru sighs as if he’s been delegated to bring me to my execution and starts herding me toward the bathroom. He helps me douse my hair in the sink and squints at me as I wring it out.</p><p>            “Thanks for the save,” he mutters. “If you were two minutes later…”</p><p>            “You’d be missing an ear?” I laugh. “Nah. This is for me. I hate…” I motion toward the mirror.</p><p>            Baru nods. “Why didn’t you cut your hair before now?”</p><p>            “Parents.”</p><p>            “Ah.”</p><p>            Freddy comes bounding back down the stairs a moment later. His hair’s been put in a man bun with a comb stuck through it and he’s hoisting a bag full of scissors and mysterious gels. <em>Oh boy.</em></p><p>            He leaves the bag on the porcelain sink-counter then scurries off into the storage-portion of his basement, returning with a folding chair.</p><p>            “Okay, sit, sit. You have entered the Freddy zone,” he declares. “Baru, fetch me cider.”</p><p>            “Not on your life.”</p><p>            “Heartbreaking. We’ll take a break for drinks while the primer sets in,” he decides, and uncaps an aerosol with a loud <em>pop!</em></p><p>“Mario Kart after this?” Baru suggests.</p><p>            “I will thrash you both,” Freddy says by way of agreement, then clicks on his electric razor again.</p><p>            I look at the person in the mirror, with two friends and soon-to-be-short-hair, and smile.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Leandro -</strong>
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</p><p>            “Guess!” I exclaim.</p><p>            Haze laughs, tucking the couple strands of dark hair that were displaced when she tugged her hood off into the edge of her hijab. I ambushed her at her locker before her class and she hasn’t even gotten a chance to change out of her parka. She picks the card out of the wrapping paper. “To Boy, Sirrah, Lamb, Cub, and heiress of Illyria.”</p><p>            Yes, I combed the script for every last title I could apply to her character. Christmas is the time of year to go all out, and if I’m too chickenshit to admit how I’ve felt for four years, then I might as well shower her with gifts and hope she picks up the unsubtle clue.</p><p>            She starts pulling out the wrapping paper.</p><p>            “You don’t even wanna shake it?” I wheedle.</p><p>            “The green apple candies might fall out,” she answers dryly. Then pulls out the bag of green apple candies. “Thanks, Lee! Seriously. I was running out.”</p><p>            “Impossible. You have some secret stash in your closet, I know you do.”</p><p>            She snorts. “Those are for emergencies.”</p><p>            “There’s more in there.” I pick out a strand of wrapping paper for her.</p><p>            “Ooh.”</p><p>            Her little magpie eyes light up as she picks out the jewelry box and pops it open. I lean against the locker with a satisfied smile as she pulls the ring free of the velvet and brings it up to her face.</p><p>            “Ooooh.”</p><p>            “Figured it’d make a good prop for Twelfth Night,” I say as if I don’t buy her a ring every year.</p><p>            She grins, slipping the ring onto her left hand and holding it up to an imaginary audience. “What means Leandro? Fortune forbid my outsides have not charmed him!”</p><p>            “You’re more charming that you give yourself credit for,” I tease and hope I look as insincere as possible. Sure enough, she socks my shoulder.</p><p>            “Shut up.”</p><p>            I laugh and wait as she sheds her parka, stuffs her boots into her locker, retrieves her English binder, and tucks the candies into her pocket. Haiza keeps the ring on her finger all through the first block and when we regroup at lunch, it’s still there.</p><p>            It’s a moonstone, twinkly and opalescent, because I figured it’d go with all her monochrome rings. She’s born in June, which I <em>think </em>means that’s her birthstone but every single website told me a different thing, so my official explanation is ‘cool shiny rock for Haze.’</p><p>            Cory meets up with us at our lunch table bearing Subway and shoots me a knowing look when she sees the ring on Haze’s finger. I avoid her stare.</p><p>            “What’d you get me, Lee?” she asks, sliding into the bench next to Haze.</p><p>            “Free spotting coupon.” I slide the little piece of card paper across the table. I drew a little dumbbell next to the writing. Cory’s smirk turns to an actual smile.</p><p>            “Aw, thanks.”</p><p>            “What’d you get everyone else?” I’m pretty sure Haze only asks because she knows how much I like to brag about my gift-buying skills, but I won’t complain. She’s right, anyhow.</p><p>            “I am <em>so</em> glad you asked,” I enthuse, already fishing around in my pocket for my list. “iTunes gift card for Jules, mini sampler packs of flavoured coffee for Mel, and floral candles for Mom.”</p><p>            “Memorized lines for Mr. A?” Cory jokes, devouring her sub in half a bite, then asks with her mouth full, “Y’all ready for dress?”</p><p>            “Definitely,” I say as Haze says,</p><p>            “Definitely not.”</p><p>            Cory snorts, then starts coughing as shredded lettuce goes down the wrong way.</p><p>            “You’ll do great, Haze,” I assure her, hand moving over the table in a half-aborted movement to grab hers. <em>Nope. Chill.</em> I flatten my hand on the table instead.</p><p>            “Penelope’s doing this performance. I’ll do great being offstage.” Haze shakes her head at me. “Do you even read Mr. A’s emails? Blaire and Penelope are on today, and then me and Bruno get thrown off the deep end on opening night.”</p><p>            I pull out my phone. <em>2,783 unread emails,</em> Gmail says. I put away my phone again. “Right. Welp. You’ll do great on opening night.”</p><p>            She swallows and flashes an ill-looking smile. “Uh-huh.”</p><p>            “Yeah, Haze, you’re fine,” Cory says. “I’m more worried about your brother.”</p><p>            Haze’s unease vanishes and she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Moiz… he just needs to learn how to hold a poker face.”</p><p>            “Maybe he’ll do better with Blaire as Toby,” I suggest.</p><p>            Cory huffs. “He laughs around <em>me</em>, not Bruno. How do you think Penelope’s gonna do? I’m surprised how committed she’s been to this thing.”</p><p>            “Trying to impress my brother. My other brother,” Haze says with a grimace.</p><p>            I make a noise of agreement, but Cory holds up a finger.</p><p>            “She’s not into him anymore I don’t think.”</p><p>            “She found out what he’s like?” Haze snorts.</p><p>            “Naw, I dunno… they just kind of became friends and that was that,” Cory says with a shrug. “‘Sides, your brother is like, <em>definitely </em>gay, right?”</p><p>            Haze nods.</p><p>            “There you go.”</p><p>            We finish our lunches in relative silence after that, having solved the mystery of Cory’s cousin and Haze’s brother, then split for the second block. I’m fizzing with nervous energy all through my last two classes, wondering what’s it’s gonna be like to play Orsino to Penelope’s Viola. <em>Guess I’ll have to learn how to fake yearning,</em> I think.</p><p>            “Mr. Cuerves?” Mr. B asks sharply.</p><p>            I jerk upright. “Yup. Uh, quadratic formula—X equals negative B plus or minus root B squared minus four A C over two A.”</p><p>            Mr. B eyes me as if he’s suspicious I cheated on this random question, then continues to drone, marking up the paper on the projector. My eyes start to blur at all the parabolas, and the formulas begin to be replaced with lines from Twelfth Night.</p><p>            ‘<em>I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, to spite a raven’s heart within a dove.’</em></p><p><em>            Kind of a raw line for a comedy,</em> I think, twiddling my pen between my fingers. <em>Also ‘But this your minion, whom I know you love, And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly.’</em> I guess I’ve been playing Orsino like he’s in love with ‘Cesario’ by that point, accidentally or otherwise. <em>Will it be noticeably different with Penelope as Cesario? Will Haze wonder why I act in love with Viola when it’s her but not when it’s Penelope?</em> Hm. Terrifying. But I guess it’s easier for her to find out by accident than it would be for me to actually work up the nerve to tell her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Blaire -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>My time has come.</p><p>            While the temptation to burst through the auditorium’s doors and fly down the aisle at an unmatched velocity is strong, I keep it cool until we’re all assembled, ready to go. Mr. A has us all rounded up by 4:00 pm.</p><p>            “Alright everybody, we’re starting in ten minutes,” he says. We’re all sitting in the front row of the auditorium, looking up at him as he stands in front of the stage, laying out our schedule. There’s not much of one today. “Full music. Full costumes. Full tech, thank you, tech crew and thank you, Mel. Understudies Blaire and Penelope. Hopefully Bruno and Haiza, you guys will be fine for the whole run,” he holds up crossed fingers and shoots a smile at Haiza and the empty seat where Bruno would’ve been if he’d shown up, “but Blaire and Penelope, you guys have done phenomenal jobs learning the whole show. Yeah, c’mon up, let’s give them a round of applause.”</p><p>            I roll forward to Mr. A’s side, then see Penelope peel away from the fringes of the cast. “Damn girl!” I exclaim when I see her.</p><p>            Rather than the tight, uncomfortable smiles I’ve seen her make, she flashes a crooked grin, then practically saunters over to Mr. A. Her hair, previously auburn ringlets past her shoulders, has been trimmed to thick rusty-red curls that barely reach her neck, buzzed at the base and combed over. She’s swapped out her skirt and blouse for a palm-leaf-patterned teal button-down and jean capris that set her greenish-blue eyes sparkling.</p><p>            “Monarch Pennsylvania!” Freddy yells from somewhere in the cast and starts clapping. The rest of the cast joins in, with a slight ripple of bemused laughter at Freddy’s new nickname for her.</p><p>            Penelope’s cheeks redden but her grin doesn’t waver. <em>Good for her,</em> I think. She always gave me a weird vibe, like she was uncomfortable in her own skin, or playing a role someone else picked for her. Now she’s nearly radiating confidence.</p><p>            “Very good Cesario-haircut,” Mr. A comments with an approving nod. “Alrighty, folks. Ms. Cary’ll take you through a vocal warm-up, then we’ll do some physical warm-ups, and then you guys are gonna get your costumes on, I’ll check in with tech, we’ll do fight call for the people with fights, and we’ll kick this dress off.”</p><p>            Even Julio seems excited to start warm-up. I move through the scales with gusto, knowing I’m gonna have to sing Three Merry Men with Freddy and Baru. I’ll need to hold my own against Freddy’s vocals and… possibly drown out Baru. <em>Good night, Penthisilea. On the twelfth day of December…</em> I glance at Daphne. We’ve been texting a lot, though no more date-adjacent-hang-outs since we got tea after the park line-running. <em>Just ask her, you dingus,</em> my brain suggests.</p><p>            <em>How about I flirt with her in-character and then wait for a thematically appropriate time to proposition her?</em></p><p>            <em>Come by and by to my chambers.</em></p><p>            I swing my arms around during the physical warm-up, maneuvering my chair in small, tight circles around the stage. <em>Gonna have to chase Moiz around.</em> Every line, every movement is jostling around in my head, like if I don’t keep them all on the surface they’ll be forgotten. <em>I know this stuff. And maybe I haven’t performed in a full performance with all the other characters and in-costume, but I’m ready.</em></p><p>            The energy is electric at 4:30 on a Tuesday, and if that’s not the magic of Shakespeare, then I don’t know what is.</p><p>            The people that don’t have to be onstage for a couple of scenes are allowed to chill in the audience for now, so I’m seated in the front row with Jules as it starts. Our sets are fairly minimalist; a staircase leading up and offstage is probably our most fancy piece. I know we’ve got a couple of cardboard hedges for the box tree scene, a window to symbolize the change in scenery for Olivia’s house, and a sofa for Orsino to throw himself on dramatically, but for the most part, the scene is set with lights and sounds.</p><p>            The overhead lights of the auditorium dim; not to the complete darkness it’ll be for the actual shows, but enough for a sense of majesty when the curtains ripple open to reveal the dark stage. A spotlight illuminates a figure at the top of the stairs.</p><p>            Leandro stands, still as a statue, in a swath of regal purple that seems to shimmer in the singular light of the spot. For an instant, I’ve been transported to Illyria. Then Leandro’s voice comes out of the Duke, trailing through a speech I’ve heard a hundred times as he walks down the stairs. The light slowly widens until the whole stage—Orsino’s chambers—are lit in a glow of faint purple. My sister stands at the base, half-drowned in blue frills, watching Leandro.</p><p>            Ms. Cary’s music comes into prominence as Orsino’s speech continues, then trickles to silence when he finishes.</p><p>            “Will you go hunt, my lord?” Belle asks. I’m surprised how well her voice carries; normally she talks in a half-whispered rasp that I figured would get swallowed up in the auditorium.</p><p>            As the scene winds to a close and Penelope and Heloise walk on, I scooch out the back of the auditorium and take the back halls to backstage so I can get ready for my first scene. <em>What a plague means my niece? What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care’s an enemy to life.</em></p><p>            I imagine Daphne following me as I wheel to centrestage, wagging her finger in her cute Maria dress. <em>By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights.</em></p><p>Excitement hums in my chest as Heloise mumbles her last lines. <em>Her </em>voice doesn’t carry, unfortunately. Hopefully the audience gathers what’s going on when Viola starts cross-dressing.</p><p>            Penelope exits toward me and I meet her gaze with a grin. For the first time, she matches it.</p><p>            I roll out in time with the lighting cues, summon up my best booming-Toby voice, and deliver my opening line to the mellow amber light of the stage.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Moiz -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            This is either a mess or the greatest production of Twelfth Night ever. Possibly both.</p><p>            After watching Freddy ad-lib through nearly the entire ‘Take away the fool’ scene, I’m already doubled over in the audience, fighting for breath, mostly because of <em>Begone, thot,</em> which I’m sure Mr. A will have words with Freddy over.</p><p>            With Blaire playing Toby, Mr. A has enlisted Izzie to play Fabian. It seems like she’s learning her lines one scene at a time, and her scenes lose their wheels occasionally. Blaire is doing a tremendous job of somehow both holding down the fort and also peppering chaos throughout her scenes. She nearly knocks Daphne to the ground with an ill-timed twirl and forces Baru to jump out of the way when she charges her wheelchair across the stage, but even with Izzie dropping and skipping lines, that whole subplot doesn’t fall apart entirely.</p><p>            It’s actually a lot of fun not to have any scenes before like… the halfway point. Ivy and I chill in the audience, oohing and aahing over all the costumes we haven’t seen yet. When Leandro appears like some kind of fancy spirit in purple, for a second I get what Haiza’s seeing in him.</p><p>            Blaire’s costume is quite literally just a white undershirt and pants, and she takes full advantage of the baggy sleeves, flapping her arms about with zeal on the line<em> I’ll confine myself no finer than I am</em>. Penelope looks adorable and surprisingly adrogynous in the powder-blue vest when she switches into Cesario mode. <em>I mean, nobody on earth would think we’re twins,</em> I think, stifling a giggle. <em>But that’s one of the smallest ‘suspensions of disbelief’ in this thing.</em></p><p>“Here comes your wife again,” Ivy mutters to me, pretending to pout. She’s stolen one of my earrings for her Antonio costume, and Mr. A has yet to chew her out.</p><p>            Cory comes in for her love confession scene with the force of a tornado.</p><p>            “Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odors on you!” Penelope announces, and I’m inclined to agree. Cory is decked out in royal blue, gold thread, and a weird, mini-hat, a stark contrast to the stiff black dress she’s been waddling around in so far.</p><p>            Their repartee is surprisingly entertaining to watch; once Penelope and Cory are alone, Cory is like some large tropical bird circling her quarry. Penelope is making a valiant effort to keep the conversation centred on Orsino.</p><p>            “I pity you!” Penelope finally exclaims, dodging away to the other side of the stage as Cory swoops again.</p><p>            “That’s a degree to love!” Cory answers, pressing her hands to her chest.</p><p>            Penelope slaps her hand across her face.</p><p>            “We’re up in a minute,” Ivy murmurs to me and we stand, filing out of the dark auditorium.</p><p>            The first scene went fine, even though I tripped over a couple of lines. Ivy’s still majorly showing me up; whether she’s showing off for Belle or not, something’s clicking for her in a way that it isn’t for me.</p><p>            When Blaire’s finished, I step onstage. Sebastian’s got the exact same powder-blue vest as Cesario, which seems improbable if he’s been hanging out with pirates for three months, but at least it makes me and Penelope seem like more of a unit.</p><p>            “I would not by my will have troubled you, but since you make your pleasure of your pains,” I pause to contain a wheeze of laughter at the memory of Ivy interrupting me in line-practice to say ‘kinky’ and finish with, “I will no further chide you.”</p><p>            Not a lot of dirty jokes from Ivy this time. She steps backward, glancing around the stage and at the projected shadows of a village skyline behind us, and says, “I could not stay behind you. My desire, more sharp than filèd steel, did spur me forth. And not all love to see you, though so much as might have drawn one to a longer voyage, but jealousy of what might befall your travel.”</p><p>            We continue, and I find myself moving around Ivy like Penelope did Cory; carefully sidestepping each of her forward movements, refusing each offer of intimacy. <em>Didn’t Haze give me, like, a whole sermon on the difference between ‘thou’ being informal and ‘you’ being formal, and how it’s actually super tragic that Sebastian constantly uses ‘you’ with Antonio while Antonio uses ‘thou?’</em></p><p>Ivy drops a coin purse into my hands, and I ask, “Why I your purse?” <em>Would it be ‘thy purse’ if Sebastian was… as into Antonio as Antonio is into him?</em></p><p>            “Haply your eye shall light upon some toy you have desire to purchase,” Ivy says with a shrug, then blatantly checks me out, eyes travelling slowly up my vest. “And your store, I think, is not for idle markets, <em>sir</em>.”</p><p>            My cheeks heat somehow, even though I know the line’s hardly… uh, heterosexual. <em>That little once-over’s new, though. How’d she think of that?</em> Freddy whoops, and we finish up the scene.</p><p>            “To the Elephant,” Ivy says at last, giving me a little salute and turning toward where that interestingly-named inn would supposedly be.</p><p>            I mirror the two-fingered salute. “I do remember.”</p><p>            <em>And to opening night. </em>Excitement surges in my stomach. <em>Exit Sebastian.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Eee it’s heating up men</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. There's Life in It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy actual Twelfth Night!! Yes I synced it so that I could publish opening night on the actual day dlkjdks anyway the gays are back men</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Daphne -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            Opening night finds me with the Twelfth Night musical blasting and nerves writhing in my stomach. Blaire tracks me down after fourth period and we walk to the auditorium together, jokes and conversation flowing freely and fuelled mostly by anxious energy.</p><p>            “Rehearsal from four until six, right?” I’ve checked the schedule a thousand times, but I still feel like I have to check.</p><p>            “Yup.” Blaire pops out her phone and thumbs through Mr. A’s emails.</p><p>            I spot my friends as we head into the auditorium and wave. My sister gives me a knowing look when she sees the girl at my side, and I can’t even bring myself to be embarrassed. I’m glad Blaire’s with me and that she likes me, and I’m glad we’re doing this together even though Bruno’s fine and Blaire’s probably not gonna get to play Toby. What is there to be embarrassed about?</p><p>            “Then the show opens at seven-thirty,” Blaire says and shoots me a grin. I return it, feeling the energy nearly humming in the air as the cast piles into the auditorium.</p><p>            Mr. A is finally wearing something normal, just a nice black, pinstriped suit and tie, and manages to be extra anyway. <em>Is that eyeliner?</em> He claps his hands to get our attention; everyone’s buzzing with conversation, turning excitedly from one to another and sharing jokes, lines, and whispers of ‘good luck.’</p><p>            “Alright folks.” He seems to be containing his anticipation, but his black eyes are sparkling under the dim lights of the auditorium. I know he’s coloured just as stoked as we are. “It’s been months of hard work, and I am so, so thankful for all of you. You guys have done a great job and made this process truly memorable and special. I hope you feel the same way, and are just as excited for opening night as I am. And just before we start our last rehearsal, a reminder from Mel to step all the way into the light.”</p><p>            Laughs ripple through us. Mel’s probably individually tracked down all of us to berate us for not standing in the centre of the spotlights. I suddenly feel like crying, looking around at them all—Julio’s white-knuckled grip on Blaire’s hand, Penelope socking Baru in the shoulder teasingly, Haiza and Leandro looking at each other like they’re the only people in the room, Ivy’s arm slung around Belle’s chair, Heloise and Izzie huddled together; they’re not sad tears, it’s just ‘cause I’m so… so happy to be here, with all these people, at this point in time. Every little quirk of how they play their characters, every costume, every line, and every gesture… they’re all a part of this amazing thing we’ve made that’s never going to happen again after this week.</p><p>            <em>Five shows,</em> I remind myself. <em>Five shows to pull off and bring the house down every night. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.</em></p><p>            We move through each sticky scene seamlessly, every song rings through the auditorium in turns raucous, tremulous, sweet, mournful, and celebratory, and we share laughs at the overwrought Shakespearean puns that no one in the audience has a chance in hell of catching unless they’re Haiza, Moiz, and Baru’s english-prof parents.</p><p>            And then doors open.</p><p>            We squirrel ourselves backstage, taking turns in the dressing rooms for the people who haven’t dealt with all their costumes yet. Mr. A runs fight call behind the closed curtains. We hear the murmurs of parents, classmates, and everyone else who decided to catch this high school production.</p><p>            “Scared?” Blaire whispers to me. I’m sitting against the wall with my sister and her, watching Heloise and Izzie run around. Izzie speaks rapidly into the commset, flashing directions to Heloise with her arms, white in the dim light of the backstage.</p><p>            “A little. Mostly excited. How are you feeling?” I whisper back.</p><p>            Blaire’s grin is dazzling. “Fantastic. Feels like I took E.”</p><p>            I giggle. “How would you know? You’ve done ecstasy?”</p><p>            “Naw. But this is what I imagine it’d feel like,” she whispers, covering her mouth and doing the little giggle-snort she does when she’s trying not to laugh.</p><p>            Looking back at her, lit by the faint blue safety lights and absolutely electric with anticipation, something occurs to me. <em>I’d like to be around her all the time. Dates. Hang outs. Make-outs. </em>She’s beautiful, really, even wearing Fabian’s little dumpy brown vest (her words, not mine) and snorting into her palm, high on life. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten the feeling with anyone else that I get when I’m around her. The impulse to sit up on my knees and kiss her flits through my head, then Mr. A comes over and my chance is gone.</p><p>            “Fight call’s done!” he whisper-calls to us. Izzie flashes him a thumbs-up and repeats it over her comm. Everyone’s on their feet in an instant. Mr. A grins and steps back toward the stage. “Places.”</p><p>            Blaire takes my hand as a sliver of light illuminates the stage. Mr. A’s pushed through the curtains. A moment later, his amplified voice rings over the audience.</p><p>            “Welcome to St. Erin’s production of Twelfth Night.”</p><p>            We listen to his little opening spiel, holding hands tightly. Izzie whispers something into her comm, then looks back at me and winks. Then Mr. A finishes and a crack of the thunder booms through the auditorium.</p><p>            I bite my bottom lip, containing a grin. We can see the lights flash back here, then I hear Izzie murmur, “Go curtains.”</p><p>            The familiar rattly-swoosh forms an undercurrent to the rumbling thunder as Heloise pulls and the heavy red curtains sweep over the stage. Then there’s utter silence as the storm lights and sounds drain away, giving Belle a chance to sprint from the tech booth to the stage. Leandro is lit like an unearthly spirit, his profile stark against the darkness of the stage.</p><p>            It’s opening night, so of course, there are snags. Belle sprints onstage just in time for her cue, nearly out of breath. Heloise is still too quiet, and definitely not ‘stepping into the light.’ I can’t call up the same energy I had at dress as I follow Bruno onstage. Still, every moment is sizzling, even if I can’t channel it into all my lines, or every movement.</p><p>            “Well let her except, before excepting,” Bruno announces.</p><p>            “Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order,” I shoot back at him, then glance over his shoulder as he steps forward to address the audience and catch Blaire’s eyes in the gloom of backstage. She smiles, and I find an answering grin on my face. Then I turn and project my voice to the packed rows of faces.</p><p>            “That quaffing and drinking will undo you!” I step into the spotlight and shoot a warning look at Bruno. “I heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.”</p><p>            Bruno presses his hand to his chest like he’s wounded and I turn to the audience with <em>Told you so</em> face. Doing these scenes with Bruno after having done it with Blaire feels like wearing shoes that are too small, but I keep up my energy through the scene. <em>It’s called acting for a reason, Daphne.</em></p><p>            Baru comes on and we do our little three-person scene. I grimace at him as I offer him my hand, which is mostly acting; when around Bruno, Baru seems lovely by comparison. As each confusing old joke is exchanged, probably eliciting great laughs from the Tandons and absolutely no one else, I reach the end of my scene.</p><p>            “Marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren,” I say, and turn away.</p><p>            It all feels worth it when I walk offstage and find Blaire waiting in the same spot.</p><p>            “Brilliant,” she says, and this time I do kneel. She cocks her head, dark skin still faintly blue from the backstage lights, then grins.</p><p>“Do, or not do?” Baru as Andrew Aguecheek muses aloud.</p><p>            “Do,” Blaire whispers, and I take that as my cue to close the distance between us and kiss her.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>- Hermelinda -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            I might be to blame for Heloise’s lack of voice.</p><p>            She seemed a little confused by my offering of the candy last week, and when I urged her to try one… she started coughing so hard I thought she was going to throw up. After some quick water-fountain-intervention and many of my apologies, she rasped that black licorice, in fact, both looks and tastes like a hockey puck. I confirmed this after trying one.</p><p>            Needless to say, my attempt to signal interest through gifts failed handily and Heloise’s trouble projecting her voice is probably just residual lung trauma from salty black licorice.</p><p>            Once she’s exited and I’ve quietly admitted the licorice situation to Izzie over the comm, endured her laughter, and become appropriately indignant when her laugh overstays its welcome, I return my attention to the control panels.</p><p>            Belle sprints back through the door and slings herself into the chair, gasping for breath.</p><p>            “Next lighting cue’s not for another three minutes,” I observe as she continues to breathe heavily. “Didn’t need to fuckin’ Lightning McQueen it.”</p><p>            “Shut,” she says, pinching her fingers and taking a last, ragged breath.</p><p>            “Kachow,” I whisper to myself, then flick up the lights as Bruno staggers on.</p><p>            “I heard that,” Belle mutters to me.</p><p>            “By mine honour, half-drunk!” Cory nearly yells the line.</p><p>            I grin and fold my hands in my lap to stop myself from playing with the lights unnecessarily. And immediately decide it looks like the stage lights are a little bright for the indoors of Olivia’s house.<em> Don’t, Mel.</em></p><p>            I am a <em>little</em> over caffeinated, mostly because I’ve wanted to try every single type of coffee Lee gave me for Christmas, but the lights really do look too bright. I move the slider at a snail’s pace; don’t want the audience to know the tech head is still fucking with settings mid-scene like a first-day stagehand.</p><p>            Belle shoots me a look and I know she didn’t miss my slider-fuckery. I pointedly avoid her look and tip the amber of Toby’s lighting into saffron-yellow as Malvolio enters, then glance back at Belle and grin. <em>It’s been what, three years of working together?</em> Guess it’s not surprising she can anticipate it when I pull stuff like that. I hide my smile at the feeling. I’m really glad to be back in tune with Belle after everything was so weird with the break-up.</p><p>            We work through an hour of cues in near-silence, nothing but the murmur of Izzie in my ear, the dials and sliders under my fingers, and the coffee in my thermos. The latter is gone by the halfway mark, which doesn’t really calm my jitters.</p><p>            “Here we go,” Belle says, a hint of a smile in her voice.</p><p>            I’m inclined to agree. Cory sweeps in, tugging Haiza along behind her, and I press up the orange undertone of Olivia’s household, then doublecheck my script with all its smudgy cues in the margins as they speed through another back-and-forth.</p><p>            Bruno enters again. I shift the undertone as he announces, “Gentleman, God save thee.”</p><p>            Then we get to the fun bit. Blaire sticks by Haiza’s side, promising to talk to Sir Andrew on Cesario’s behalf, while Toby runs off to tell Andrew that Cesario is a terrifying beast of a man that’s going to soundly trounce him in battle. I keep the spot on Toby and Andrew as they mime their conversation, and Belle kills the lights on that half of the stage to leave Blaire and Haiza brightly illuminated.</p><p>            “I beseech you, what manner of man is he?” Haiza asks. I can practically hear her lip trembling. <em>Lee knows how to pick ‘em</em>, I think, remembering Cory’s dramatics.</p><p>            Then they lose the lights as Haiza says, “I care not who knows so much of my mettle.” and I turn the spot on Baru and Bruno into a full-force overhead.</p><p>            When they’ve finished, I move the darkness on Blaire’s half to a medium glow as Belle dims the bright lights on Baru’s into the same medium level. As Bruno steps forward for an aside, I follow him with the spot while Belle slowly drives both halves back up to full brightness.</p><p>            “Marry, I’ll ride your horse as well as I ride you,” he says, which provokes a laugh from some.</p><p>            “He hates that line,” Belle murmurs. “Thinks it’s gay.”</p><p>            “It sounds a bit…” I chuckle. “Questionable.”</p><p>            Baru and Haiza take up their positions on either side of the stage, unsheathe their swords, and begin furiously swinging at thin air. That gets more of a laugh from the audience, which I’m relieved by. For a comedy, they’ve been a bit dead. We give it a beat, and then...</p><p>            <em>Enter Antonio.</em></p><p>            I douse the stage in silver.</p><p>Belle audibly chokes at the sight of Ivy, full costume, standing atop a platform centrestage and staring down at Baru and Haiza like a vengeful ghost. <em>Wrong Shakespeare play.</em></p><p>            She recovers enough to play the metallic sound of Ivy unsheathing her sword, at least. I swear to God, Ivy looks up for a moment like she can see all the way through the darkness of the auditorium to the tech booth, then she jumps down from the platform and roars,</p><p>            <em>“Put up your sword!”</em></p><p>            Baru stumbles back like someone physically hit him as Ivy advances on him, a silver stud in her ear catching the spot and sending a sparkling dart of light all the way up to us. I relax the undertone a bit so Antonio’s revealed as a real person, then kick Belle.</p><p>            “Go down there, you’re on in like a minute,” I remind her.</p><p>            “Fuck!”</p><p>            She shoots out the door and I shake my head, sighing. <em>Gay disaster. Why does Mr. A have her playing a minor character like that in one of the big tech scenes?</em></p><p>            Then again, the rest of the scene is pretty light on tech. I lean back in my chair and watch Izzie and Belle come in with their Illyrian police badges to arrest Antonio. A moment later, I hear a rustle through the comm.</p><p>            “Honey?”</p><p>            “She just asked me to hold it,” Heloise’s voice crackles through the comm softly, and she laughs. “It’s cool. Like a walkie-talkie.”</p><p>            <em>God, she’s fucking adorable.</em> “Oh, yeah? It’s nice to hear your voice.” I bite my pinkie fingernail, grinning to myself as I watch Belle onstage. “How’s the first show going for you?”</p><p>            “Good.” I can imagine her blushing.</p><p>            “I’m having fun up here.”</p><p>            “Oh?”</p><p>            “How’s Izzie doing? Has she started compulsively tucking her hair behind her ears?”</p><p>            Another soft laugh. “Not yet.”</p><p>            “Wow, you’re keepin’ her calmer than I do.”</p><p>            “Nobody’s calm around you,” Heloise whispers. The scene’s ending soon. I hope Belle briefly forgets her line so I get another minute before Izzie retakes the comm.</p><p>            “Aw, that’s not true.”</p><p>            “It is,” Heloise giggles. “Well, maybe Izzie doesn’t get nervous ‘cause of <em>you</em>.”</p><p>            “She’s straight.” I shrug. I did try. Briefly, in grade eleven, and I would like to never be laughed at ever again when I flirt with girls, thank you very much.</p><p>            “Don’t you have a reputation for that kind of thing?”</p><p>            It’s my turn to laugh quietly. “Izzie’s immune.”</p><p>            “Why are we talking about Izzie?”</p><p>            I huff. “I don’t know.” Then seize the opportunity and lower my voice to a murmur to ask: “What would you rather talk about?”</p><p>            Heloise hums, and I can hear a smile in her voice as she says, “I dunno. There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you, though.”<br/>            “Oh?”</p><p>            “What are you listening to in your headphones?”</p><p>            I laugh. “You. The headphones are my comm.”</p><p>            “No, the red ones.”</p><p>            I smile, leaning back in the chair. “Hmm. You don’t want to spoil the surprise, do you?”</p><p>            I wait for her to press me on what ‘the surprise’ is, but nothing comes out of the headset. A moment later, I hear Izzie again. “Flirting’s over. You missed your cue, Mel.”</p><p>            “Motherfucker.” I grab the dial and drop the lights to move between scenes.</p><p>            Speaking of gay disasters.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Julio -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            I’m going to throw up. Definitely. In minutes, most likely.</p><p>            “Julio!” Blaire hisses as I start to backpedal toward the door out into the hallway. We’re backstage, waiting for our scene to start, but with any luck I will be far away from the audience and not doubled over a high school toilet puking my guts up.</p><p>            <em>I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.</em></p><p>            The first scene was fine. Kind of fine. A nightmare, honestly. I felt faint, and the lights were making me sweat, but I only forgot like half a line. But that was a small scene. Storm in, shout, storm out.</p><p>            This is not a small scene. This is a fucking humongous, if-you-screw-this-up-you-ruin-everything, colossally-plot-relevant scene. And it is making my stomach turn somersaults.</p><p>            “Jules, goddamnit, stop!” Blaire’s wheels squeak as she dashes after me.</p><p>            <em>Where’s the closest bathroom?</em> Even though there’s the faint disinfectant, chalky, lockers, and sweat smell, I suddenly feel like I’m anywhere else. I wish. I’m backstage, and I’m supposed to be <em>onstage</em> in about thirty seconds.</p><p>            “Hey, hey, chill.”</p><p>            I sink to my knees in the middle of the hallway. The sharp fluorescence is blocked a little by Blaire as she comes to halt in front of me.</p><p>            “Are you okay?”</p><p>            “No, fuck, do I look okay?” I snap, stomach making another dive for my shoes.</p><p>            “Nope. Do you have the letter?”</p><p>            “What letter?”</p><p>            “The one with all the line starters I gave you.”</p><p>            <em>Oh, that letter.</em> My head is spinning. Or maybe the hallway is spinning. “No,” I rasp. I need water. “Where is it?”</p><p>            “I’ll get it. Go find a water fountain and be back as fast as you can,” Blaire says in her ‘don’t argue with me or I’ll flip you like a pancake’ tone. “You’re gonna be fine, Jules, you know this. The impossible’s happening tonight, and you are gonna be great. Get out of your own head.”</p><p>            <em>Where am I supposed to go?</em> I swallow the teeny bit of vomit creeping up my throat and fumble off to a water fountain. It’s ice-cold as usual, but instead of feeling like my teeth are going to break, it grounds me a bit. <em>Clown make-up. Clown make-up. Clown make-up. Whole ass. Out of my head.</em></p><p>            Then before I know it, my teeth are defrosting, Blaire’s shoving the textured letter into my hands, and I’m walking onstage.</p><p>            “For here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling!” Daphne declares.</p><p>            The vomit’s back. I can feel pressure behind my eyes. Holy shit, this is going to be very, very bad.</p><p>            “Fuck it up, Jules,” Blaire whispers, then I feel her hand on my back and I’m on. The lights are hot, but I can feel cold sweat trickling down my temple.</p><p>            And what is there to say except my opening line?<em> You know this,</em> Blaire reminds me. I know it well enough to free up some room in my head for panicking-Julio to have his meltdown. The rest of my brain will put on this performance.</p><p>            “Tis but fortune,” I say. “All is fortune.”</p><p>            My voice sounds flat and uncertain to my own ears, but the scene’s rolling at least. I’m reaching desperately for the place I found after Cory knocked some sense into me, but I just can’t find it; not when I know there are a couple hundred people watching, waiting for me to ruin this.</p><p>            We push through it until the letter’s introduced. I bend, fingers brushing the invisible tape so I know I’ve hit my mark, then slip the letter from my sleeve.</p><p>            “What employment have we here?” I ask the audience. Somebody laughs. <em>They know what’s coming?</em> Impossibly, I perk up a bit. “By my life!” I exclaim. “This is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. And thus makes she her great P’s!” The same person howls with laughter. <em>What… the fuck?</em> Definitely Baru’s mom getting the dirty joke that no one else does. “It is in contempt of the question her hand!”</p><p>            Still, hearing laughter when it feels like the audience has been sleeping through the whole production is pretty nice.</p><p>            “M, O, A, I, doth sway my life,” I announce. “Nay, but first let me see, let me see, let me see.” I pretend to unfold reading glasses and peer at the letter. I’ve gotta think at least a few of the parents know about the blind kid in grade ten; I’m getting more laughs.</p><p>            “I may command where I adore,” I pretend to read, then exclaim, pressing a hand to my chest, “Why, she may command me! I serve her, she is my lady!”</p><p>            They’re laughing. This is good. My stomach is still flipping around, but in a much more… excited way? Terrifying excitement instead of terrifying I’m-going-to-throw-up-feeling? Here comes the big monologue.</p><p>            “Soft!” I shout. “Here follows prrrose…” What is getting into me? <em>Keep them laughing.</em> “If this fall into thy hand, revolve!” I spin on my heel, in more a pirouette than the subdued three-sixty I used to do. “In my stars, I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ‘em!”</p><p>            And it’s hardly revolutionary, but I do the required pelvic thrust with more verve than a high school production is probably allowed. “Remember who commended thy yellow stockings… and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say remember, go to, thou art made if thou desirest to be so. If not, let me see thee a <em>steward still!</em>” I throw in a cackle. This is my monologue, and it’ll be fucking absurd if I say so. I don’t know <em>exactly</em> what Blaire meant when she said ‘Fuck it up’ but maybe this is what she had in mind.</p><p>            “I will baffle Sir Toby!” I yell, the adrenaline making my heart beat so fast and hard that I can feel it in my palms. The audience is responding, like a big head leaning toward to me to hear my words. “I will wash off gross acquaintances, I will be point device, the very man.” I slap the letter. “I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me. For every reason excites to this; that my lady <em>loves me!</em>”</p><p>            The big speech is finally over. The paper between my fingers is nearly soaked through with my sweat, and I think I might have a heart condition now, but I can feel the audience warming up like an engine rumbling under my palms.<em> Fuck yeah. Is this why people act? I guess Blaire was right. The impossible is happening, tonight. Wonder what the hell she was referring to, though.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>- Haiza -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I made it through the subtext scene. I made it through Come Away Death. I made it through slow dancing with Lee, and Lee’s purple light and purple clothes and beautiful face and the way he smiles sadly when he says ‘Tis not to so sweet now as it was before.’</p><p>            But this one’s gonna kill me.</p><p>            “Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,” Leandro spits at Cory, pacing the stage like a restless animal. “And that I partly know the instrument that screws me from my true place in your favour… Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still? But this, your minion, whom I <em>know </em>you love.”</p><p>            He’s turned to me. Oh no. C’mon, God, Shakespeare, whoever’s listening, please give me a good poker face. Please make Lee think that I’m acting as I stare open-mouthed as he stabs a finger at me, eyes glittering with fury and unshed tears.</p><p>            “And whom by heaven, I swear—” His voice breaks and his hand, lingering in the air like it could cross the distance between us and cup my cheek, falls slowly. He rasps, “I swear, I tender dearly. Him will I tear out of that cruel eye where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.”</p><p>            I think I’m actually shaking. Cory’s staring at me, utterly bewildered, over Lee’s shoulder. Is it my line? I don’t think I can speak. I don’t think I can stand up.</p><p>            “Come, boy,” Lee finally continues. His voice is quiet now. “With me. My thoughts are ripe in mischief.” And now he’s supposed to turn to Cory in one more spiteful jab, but… he doesn’t. He just stops in the middle of the stage, crowned in purple lights and still as stone, and stares at me as he says, “I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, to spite a raven’s heart within a dove.”</p><p>            I’m reaching out to him half-consciously, covering his fist with my shaking hands and answer, “And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, to do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.”</p><p>            <em>This one’s going to kill me.</em> I look up at Leandro. We’re not facing out at the audience anymore; we’ve curled into each other, sucked into our world, and then Cory calls,</p><p>            “Where goes Cesario?”</p><p>            And it just breaks out of me in a flood, because when you’ve gotten really good at not saying it for six years, you’ve also gotten really good at imagining saying it a thousand times.</p><p>            “After him I <em>love</em>.” I turn, and pound my chest in time with the iambs. <em>Da-dum. Da-dum. Like a heartbeat, see, Haiza?</em> Mom told me when I was a kid, spreading my little fat hand over my own chest to feel my heart. “More than I love these eyes,” I press my fist in again like I’m stabbing myself. “More than my life. More by all mores than ere I shall love wife.”</p><p>            I open my arms to the audience, abandoning both this stupid man I’ve chosen to love and this woman who also fell in love with the worst person at the worst time, and tell them, “If I do feign, you witnesses above, punish my life, for tainting of my love.”</p><p>            Silence falls heavily. I can feel my heart, responding to the lines, and my breaths huffing in and out.</p><p>            “Aye me detested,” Cory murmurs. “How am I beguiled?”</p><p>            Leandro is still looking at me with that heart-wrenchingly betrayed expression, so I fix my eyes on Cory and beg, “Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?!”</p><p>            “Hast thou forgotten thyself?” Well, this is maybe worse. Cory looks just as desperately confused and sad. “Is it so long? Call forth the holy father.”</p><p>            “Come, away,” Lee growls.</p><p>            “Whether my lord?” Cory asks, stepping forward. I feel my entire stomach lurch, possibly nausea from the way the lights keep switching from Orsino’s purple to Olivia’s orange like they’re literally playing tug-of-war with me, and dread surges in me and Cesario as Olivia says,</p><p>            “Cesario, <em>husband</em>, stay.”</p><p>            Leandro stiffens in an instant, like he’s just been shot in the back. Then he asks softly, “Husband?”</p><p>            “Aye,” Cory sounds satisfied. “<em>Husband</em>. Can he that deny?”</p><p>            Lee turns slowly to look at me. I’ve heard the line a thousand times, probably, with every torrented movie and every production my mom dragged me out to and every cheesy adaptation I made Baru and Moiz watch with me, but literally nothing could’ve prepared me for the deathly chill of Lee’s voice as he repeats, “Her husband, sirrah?”</p><p>            “<em>No</em>, my lord,” I gasp. “Not I.”</p><p>            Then the whole song and dance of bringing out Sir Topas begins, but I can’t take my eyes off Lee through the whole process. He’s shaking his head, cheeks blotched with passion and rage, and finally, we get there.</p><p>            “Oh, thou dissembling cub,” he breathes. “Farewell and take her.” He lashes a hand in Cory’s direction, never once taking his eyes from my face. “But direct thy feet where thou and I henceforth may never meet.”</p><p>            I swallow. <em>Yup. I can definitely do this four more times.</em> And the scene goes on, and on, and on, every last subplot getting tied up and resolved. And I still don’t look away from Leandro. I’m still staring at him as he steps into the middle of the stage.</p><p>            “Be not amazed.” Leandro’s voice rasps over the words. Maybe the break in emotion has shaken him as much as it’s done to me. Moiz stands across from me, dressed nearly identically. Only the black scarf wrapped around my hair distinguishes us. “If this be so, as yet the glass seems true. I shall have share in this most happy wreck. Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, thou never should’st love woman like to me.”<br/>            I step forward, joining him in the purple light. It’s been turned to a deep plum; I guess Sebastian and Viola’s combined blue have overthrown him a little. “And all those sayings will I overswear,” I whisper. “And all those swearings keep as true in soul, as doth that orbed continent, the fire, that severs day from night.”</p><p>            “Give me thy hand,” Lee asks, and I slip mine into his. We’re probably both thoroughly soaked in sweat, exhausted, and in need of some rejuvenating gatorade, but a kind of joy so entire and overwhelming that I never thought it was even possible swells up to fill me. Even if the only way I can tell him is with this four hundred year old script, and even if we’ll only be together as Cesario and Orsino… this is more than I thought I’d ever get.</p><p>            “Cesario, come,” he says. “For so you shall be while you are a man.”</p><p>            We share a grin. <em>Heterosexual,</em> Leandro’s echo when we were in his room running lines declares, catching the hot cheeto I lob him in his mouth. <em>Straight as flax on a distaff,</em> I agreed.</p><p>            “But when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.”</p><p>            I gaze up at him as the final song’s chords play and for a second I can believe we’re both thinking the same thing.</p><p>            Then curtains, bows, and the moment’s gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah I’m dramatic as hell ok what’s new I like twelfth night too much lol</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A Contagious Breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>hh ok we’re in the final stretch dear readers. I’ve been pretty uhh in a weird place let’s say it was my sister’s birthday and the attempted coup so yknow mixed bag and my schedule at work is ramping up and I’m not sleeping well. Forgive the typos plis. I still haven’t written the last chapter but my publishing schedule keeps sliding around so I might actually not publish the next chapter until the twelfth and final chapter’s been written. This doesn’t make any sense. What I’m trying to say is there might be a delay on the last chapter.</p><p>im going to beatu p whoever dedcdied that the indents on ao3 are just,, whatever you feeele like</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>            Ah I’m tired but I hope you like this! Leave a review to give me a little pat on my hardworking head</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Heloise -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            To heavy-Scottish-accent, or not to heavy-Scottish-accent. That is the question.</p><p>            I was planning on going for it tonight, actually, but I lost my nerve just as I was walking onstage. I just think it’d be really fun to go <em>This is Illyrrria, laddie.</em></p><p>            But it also might make Mr. A throw me out a window and I’m kind of scared of that happening, so instead I just spoke through my lines as best I could in my ‘normal voice.’ Which worked absolutely fine for me, until Mel hunts me down after our second show.</p><p>            “Honey, we gotta talk,” she sighs, catching up easily to me as I’m hurrying back up the steps of the auditorium toward the tech booth. I forgot my bag up there. Again.</p><p>            I hustle up the stairs faster, but Mel takes them two at a time and then plants herself in front of me.</p><p>            “Hey, hey.”</p><p>            “Sorry!” I half-squeak and try to duck past her. <em>I know I’m being super quiet!</em></p><p>            I hit leather jacket and silk. Gosh, she smells really good. I peek up at her. She’s looking down at me with a half-exasperated expression, both dark brows perfectly arched.</p><p>            “Honey,” she repeats. “Sit for a sec.”</p><p>            I let her push me down into the nearest chair. Springy and still warm from its last occupant, with a little flyer still stuck to the floor in front of it. Then Mel climbs over me. I open my mouth to tell her to—stop? move? remove her hand from its perilous position on the rail next to my thigh?—and she drops into the seat next to me with a sigh that turns me an extra-fun shade of cherry-red.</p><p>            All I’m saying is the high-energy, left-over adrenaline of the play plus Mel being right next to me in a similarly flushed state of excitement is kind of making my brain confused as to what we’re doing.</p><p>            “What’s going on with you?” Mel asks, socking my shoulder lightly.</p><p>            “What… what do you mean?”</p><p>            Mel squints at me. How does she make her eyes sparkle? “You’re not stepping into your light, for one.”</p><p>            I laugh weakly.</p><p>            “And your voice is super quiet. I have heard you make some…” Mel grins and I lose track of where I am for a second. “Truly <em>piercing</em> noises. I think you can project, can’t you? What’s going on? Are you nervous?”</p><p>            “Very nervous,” is all I can really say. <em>Now, especially.</em> “I’m… trying. There’s… I’ve kind of wanted to try this thing, but… I don’t want to mess it up.”</p><p>            Mel nods like she knows exactly what I’m talking about, which I highly doubt. She purses her lips—glossed for show days and still glittering in the lights of the auditorium—and tilts her head like she’s contemplating me. Then she says, “Well, I think you should go for it.”</p><p>            “Really? What if… it all goes horribly wrong?”</p><p>            “Well, I don’t think it will.” Mel shrugs. “Why do you think it’d go wrong?”</p><p>            I think of Mr. A and the smashed window with a Heloise-hole in it. “I don’t know if… the other people involved would be onboard.”</p><p>            “People?” Mel echoes.</p><p>            “Person,” I correct. <em>Or maybe Haiza wouldn’t like it either...</em></p><p>Mel stands again and steps over me to stand in the aisle. Then she looks down at me, bites her lip, and smiles. “Only one way to find out, don’t you think?”</p><p>            Before I can piece that one together, she strolls down the aisle toward the stage. My cheeks feel feverishly hot, but I guess she’s given me some good advice. <em>How the heck did she figure out that I wanted to do a Scottish accent for my Captain lines, though?</em></p><p>            I look down at where Mel’s joining the rest of the cast for a post-show freak-out. She looks up at me for a moment, nearly a head taller than most of them and seeming to glow under the yellow-y houselights. I stare back at her for a second, then whip around and hurry up the last of the stairs.</p><p>            <em>We were talking about me doing the accent, right?</em></p><p>            When I duck into the tech booth, I find Belle waiting. She spins toward me in her chair, looking somehow both bored and surprised to see me. <em>She’s wearing make-up too! Is that a tech crew thing?</em> My hand flutters to my own mostly-bare face.<em> Are we ‘sposed to do a lot for shows?</em> She fires me off another unimpressed look from underneath smokey eyelids.</p><p>            “I was just…” I cough. “Just grabbin’ the bag. My bag, I mean.”</p><p>            “Did you do it?” Belle asks, twirling herself back toward the desk with the toe of her blundstone.</p><p>            “Do what?” I squeak.</p><p>            Another flat look.</p><p>            “No, I got nervous and decided not to,” I admit. <em>How does everyone know I was going to do an accent?</em> Did I tell them about it at some tech meeting, or something?</p><p>            Belle <em>hmm</em>s, examining her nails. They look manicured, trimmed down short with the little white ends and glossy tops. <em>Why’s she all dressed up? Or am I under dressed…?</em> “I really thought you’d go for it on opening night.”</p><p>            “I only thought of it yesterday!” I exclaim.</p><p>            “But Mel’s been… uh…” Belle squints. “You’re not talking about… shooting your shot, are you.”</p><p>            “I’m talking about doing a Scottish accent! What are you talking about?” I practically squawk.</p><p>            Belle leans back in her chair and cackles. “Not a fuckin’ Scottish accent, girl. Jesus.” She rights herself and leans toward me on her knees. “Are you blind? Mel is as into you as I have ever seen her into anyone. <em>Kiss her</em>, fool. You know. Grab some poetry and a guitar. Serenade her. Climb her like a tree—”</p><p>            “Okay, okay, I get what you mean now.” My head reels a little. <em>Wait a second, was </em>that <em>what she was talking about?</em> “Wait. What? Okay. Hang on.”</p><p>            I sit down.</p><p>            “Okay.” I press my palms to my cheeks. “I think I’m going to go for the accent.”</p><p>            Belle makes a pained noise.<br/>            “And… and also go for the other thing,” I whisper. Then something occurs to me. “If… I… Why is she waiting for me to make a move? If I was trying to, uh, date me, I wouldn’t think I was the sort of person to be the first to… escalate.”</p><p>            “Ah.” Belle examines her nails again like there’s something about them she’s trying to figure out. “I didn’t understand either. I figured she’d notice you were a bit of a shrinking violet and… take matters into her own hands.” Belle shrugs. “But she’s dated butch girls for like, ever. After Izzie shot her down last year, I think she swore off all girls that weren’t, uh, in the driver’s seat, per se. Not to be a patriarch on main, but I think she’s used to the other girl being the one to make a move.”</p><p>            Epically confident Mel, flirty-fast-walking-always-in-control Mel thinks <em>I’m </em>going to be the one to make a move?</p><p>            “Well… gee.” I sort of fall back in the chair. Belle snort-laughs and I ask, “What do I do now?”</p><p>            “Nut up and do the accent,” Belle exclaims.</p><p>            I stare at my palms, then squeeze them into fists. <em>Yes. Okay, yes. I made it to Toronto, I made friends, I joined tech crew, and… now I’m going to ask a girl I like out, even though she is very tall and very scary, because I’m Heloise Feddersen and I can totally make the first move without collapsing into a pile of mush and terror.</em></p><p>            “Yes. Okay. Yes. I will.” I stand and grab my bag.</p><p>            “Just so we’re clear, you’re gonna ask her out, yeah?” Belle yells after me as I dash out the door.</p><p>            “Yes!” I call back over my shoulder as I sprint down the stairs. <em>And also do the accent. Third show’s the charm.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Penelope -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            The floor of the auditorium swoops out from under me.</p><p>            “What?” I ask Mr. A, voice weak to my own ears.</p><p>            He gives me an apologetic smile. “The flu’s been going around, and Haiza emailed me this morning. She’s not gonna make it. You’ll do a great job, kiddo.”</p><p>            <em>I’m going to do a great job… of panicking and dying.</em> I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stave off the looming panic attack. “Yup. Yup,” I say, and then I run at full-tilt out of the auditorium.</p><p>            Mr. A shouts something after me but I can’t hear much except a loud fuzzing whoosh. Like an ocean made of cotton. When the world’s visible again, I’m standing over the sink in the girl’s bathroom. <em>Buy sustainable!</em> A neon-pink flyer urges me. <em>You got this girl</em>, a sticky note adds from its precarious place on the edge of the mirror. The stall doors are painted puce and chipped from use. Covered in graffiti. The floors are gross. There’s toilet paper jamming one of the sinks.</p><p>            I look at the person in the mirror, feeling suddenly like whatever’s inside me has deflated, unfilling the new body I found with Freddy and Baru’s help. <em>Where are they, anyway?</em> I take a shaky breath, then snap up straight when I hear the door bang open. <em>Uh oh, they’re not coming in here, are they?</em></p><p>            “Penny?” It’s not Baru or Freddy. My sister rounds the corner of the sickly-yellow tiles with a worried expression. “I mean, Penelope? I saw you run out.”</p><p>            I reach for her on instinct and don’t bother trying to pull away and pretend to be fine as she offers a hug.</p><p>            “You want to breathe on ten?”</p><p>            “Yeah.”<br/>            “Okay.” I feel Heloise’s chest press against mine as she takes a deep breath. I count with her. “That was really good,” she says, and I don’t have my usual snippy answer. I’m not shaking anymore at least. Was I shaking before? “What do you need right now?”</p><p>            “Water,” I rasp. My throat is suddenly bone-dry. We walk in silence to the water fountain and eventually I explain, “Haiza’s sick.”</p><p>            “I heard,” Heloise murmurs.</p><p>            I gulp down another mouthful—<em>Why are these stupid water fountains so frickin’ cold?—</em>then straighten. “I—what do I do?”</p><p>            “You put on a great show,” Heloise tells me, putting an arm around my shoulders and squeezing gently. We’re practically the same height now. “You learned all the lines, Penelope. You know the part, and you were sad that you wouldn’t get a show as Viola, weren’t you?”</p><p>            “I was—but—” I flex my hands nervously. “What if I get onstage and… and like, freeze?”</p><p>            “I’ll shut off all the lights,” Heloise promises.</p><p>            “What? Do you even know how to do that?”</p><p>            “I do, actually.” She giggles. “Mel and Mr. A showed me. Apparently it’s an instant expulsion if you do it without cause in a packed auditorium; causes panic and endangerment. But I’d do it.”</p><p>            I snort. It’s weirdly comforting.</p><p>            I pull away from the lockers, ready to go back to the auditorium and explain to Mr. A that while, yes, I was freaking out and running away three minutes ago, I’m fine now, but Heloise catches my arm.</p><p>            “Hey. I think it’s really brave that you’re doing this,” she says, getting that serious, big-sister-talk-time look in her eye. “I mean, the play in general. I know the move was hard.”</p><p>            “Yeah,” I mumble, because I don’t really want to have a heart-to-heart in this gross, deserted school hallway.</p><p>            “You’re gonna be great, and I’ll be watching the whole time,” she says, a little too misty-eyed for my liking.</p><p>            “With your hand hovering on the ‘turn off all the lights and cause panic and endangerment’ button?”</p><p>            “<em>Right</em> on it,” she agrees and we laugh.</p><p>            Once I’ve had that very fun and cool conversation with Mr. A,  I go looking for Freddy and Baru. <em>Where the hell are they?</em> I duck behind the curtains to see if Freddy’s with his sister, but I find Isadora and Ivette alone.</p><p>            “Hey, have you—whoa,” I stammer.</p><p>            Isadora grins, her normal Sephora-model smile very unsettling when paired with black lipstick and bruise-purple eyeshadow. “Hey.”</p><p>            “Whoa,” I repeat. “When did you do that?”</p><p>            Ivette gives me a satisfied, lazy smile as I take in Isadora’s full goth make-over. Fishnets, probably not borrowed from Ivette since they fit Isa, a black leather skirt with a long silver zipper on its front, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a white-and-black chequered bralette overtop. And of course, combat boots.</p><p>            “We cut fourth,” Isadora explains. “Ivy wanted to cut her hair and I volunteered to hold the mirror.”</p><p>            “Your hair!” I exclaim, turning back to Ivette, who laughs. Her hair’s been buzzed as short as Belle’s, much shorter than mine, and dyed back to the bright silver it was before.</p><p>            “We mixed in a little purple,” Isa says. “Is it noticeable?”</p><p>            I peer at her head, and Ivy strikes a pose, the backstage lights catching the silver studs in her ear. There’s a bit of a sheen, I think. Iridescence is what Heloise would call it. Ivy gives me a little grin, her greenish-blue eyes catching the light the same way. I freeze for a sec and wonder if this is why they say she turns girls gay, then turn back to Isadora.</p><p>            “Have you… um… have you seen your brother?”</p><p>            Isadora groans. “He’s definitely up to something.”</p><p>            I squint. “But where’s Baru, then?”</p><p>            “Probably collaborating,” Ivy offers.</p><p>            “I dunno.” I shrug. “He and Baru have been kind of avoiding each other lately.”</p><p>            “Really?” Isa’s eyes spark and she leans forward. “What’s the tea?”<br/>            I sit on the block that Ivy pats, then hedge a little. <em>This is weird.</em> I’ve never really felt like ‘one of the girls,’ I guess, but just sitting backstage with them for a second, I already feel more at home than I did with my old ‘friends’ in Amsterdam.</p><p>            “I’m pretty sure they’re…” I motion.</p><p>            Ivy chuckles and Isa’s eyes narrow. “They’re what?”</p><p>            “Like. You know. Pining. Catching feels.” I wave my hand. “Haizandro’ing.”</p><p>            They both take that in for a moment, then...</p><p>            “No, <em>no</em>, I cannot have Baru as an in-law,” Isa exclaims, slamming a fist down on the block next to her for effect. “Unacceptable. You and Belle in some friendcestuous mess was bad enough.” Ivy holds up her hands in an innocent gesture. “But I will <em>not</em> invite him to my brunches.”</p><p>            Which is an insane thing to say while wearing combat boots and heavy eyeliner, but I can’t help sticking up for Baru. “I know he’s kind of annoying but I think it’s just social awkwardness. He just… doesn’t know when to keep his opinion to himself.”</p><p>            Ivy snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that shit, Izzie.”</p><p>            “Aren’t you about to gain Bruno as your brother-in-law?” Isa says.</p><p>            “Well, he won’t be too broken up about being excluded from my brunches,” Ivy deadpans, then stands and stretches. “It’s been fun, ladies. I gotta go, though.”</p><p>            “Harassing Belle?” Isa grabs her comm as if ready to warn the other tech crew girl.</p><p>            Ivette widens her eyes. “Of course not! Me? Never. I’m <em>actually</em> gonna go help Moiz with some kind of… something… that he’s arranging. But I’m sworn to secrecy so that’s all you’re getting.”</p><p>            Isa rolls her eyes and Ivy gives her the finger in return. I laugh and for a minute, live in a blissful world where I’m not going to be onstage in front of a hundred people in about an hour. Then I stand as well.</p><p>            “Okay, where the hell is Freddy?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Fredrik -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “What the fuck is that?”<br/>            “Oh, I think you know exactly what the fuck this is.”</p><p>            “Freddy, this is a terrible idea. What if someone sees?”</p><p>            “Maybe I want them to see.”</p><p>            “Do you even know what you’re doing with that thing?”</p><p>            “Of course! You insult me,” I <em>tsk</em>, then push my harp through the doors of backstage. “I took lessons for like two years.”</p><p>            Baru snorts. “Yeah, right, you did. You couldn’t stick to something that long.”</p><p>            “I have endurance.” I fold my arms, indignant, then follow my harp into the dimly-lit backstage area. “And I like the harp. It’s… unexpected. And pretty.”</p><p>            Baru turns up his nose and I flip him off. After a little performative incompetence on my part, Baru sighs and comes over to help me maneuver the instrument. It’s almost as tall as him and I laugh at the sight, then guide it over to the wall.</p><p>            I run my hands over the strings, remember each strum and pick that goes with each line of Come Away Death. I tuned it last night, and it sounds downright heavenly. Now, as I quietly play through it and sing a line, a shiver runs down my back.</p><p>            Then I turn to Baru and grin. “Not bad, eh?”</p><p>            “Shut up, Hämäläinen,” he huffs.</p><p>            And we don’t have to talk about how he’s the only one who can pronounce my last name other than Isa and our family, and how I feel about that.</p><p>            “Freddy! Baru! What the—” Penelope’s appeared from the other side of the stage and stops dead when she sees us with the harp. I pose.</p><p>            “What do you think of her?” I strum for effect.</p><p>            Penelope sort of gapes then says, “Alright. Isa’s goth now.”</p><p>            “Oh yeah, I saw.” <em>I would’ve cut her hair too, but…</em> She would not stand for the chasing-with-a-razor stunt. Last time I tried to involve her in anything of that kind she grabbed the spritz bottle our mom uses on the houseplants and sprayed me.</p><p>            “And you’ve got a harp.”</p><p>            “Indeed.”</p><p>            “And Haiza’s sick so I’m playing Viola.”</p><p>            “What?!”</p><p>            I’ve got nothing against Haze; I mean, quite the contrary. Watching her and Leandro dance around each other for a hundred years and then seeing them forced together like this is chicken-soup for my touch-starved soul. Still, at the news, it’s an effort not to whoop. I really didn’t think Penelope would get a single show as Viola unless Mr. A actually benched Haze to give the understudies a chance in the spotlight. I hope Haiza feels better, and I wish her a speedy recovery… and I’m very excited to watch Penelope onstage.</p><p>            “Fuck yes!” I exclaim.</p><p>            Penelope snorts. “Have some sympathy for Haiza.”</p><p>            “All due respect to her, I am so glad she got sick enough to miss a show,” I say, making the sign of the cross for no reason in particular, then say, “You think you’ll get tomorrow too? Too much to hope for closing night, eh?”</p><p>            “God, I’m telling her you’re saying this,” Baru snorts.</p><p>            “Promise?” I grin. I’d like to see Haiza try to beat me up. Maybe she could read sonnets at me really hard. Or sic Leandro on me. <em>Hm. Actually, that sounds like a nightmare.</em> “Nah, I’ll get Bruno to run her some chicken soup later. He owes me.”</p><p>            There was an incident involving stealing Baru’s phone so I could make him a playlist in which I surrendered my other gift to Bruno, but we don’t have to talk about that.</p><p>Penelope’s still looking a little shaky as we’re herded backstage. The harp distracts her enough that I think she’s going to manage, but I keep an eye on her. I know enough from Isa and her architectural aspirations to recognize what the tail-end of a panic attack looks like.</p><p>            “Everybody ready?” Mr. A asks as he comes backstage. And then he stops. And then he asks, “What is that, Freddy?”</p><p>            “Well, her name is Mathilde,” I begin, standing to give the harp a tender pat. “And I thought she would make a nice addition to the cast.”</p><p>            Mr. A’s eyes light up as he does a slow one-eighty of the instrument. “And you can play it?!”</p><p>            “Like an angel,” I promise.</p><p>            “Did you run this past Ms. Cary?” he asks.</p><p>            Baru makes a noise. I elbow him. “Yes.”</p><p>            Mr. A definitely isn’t buying that for a second, but he grins. “Well, I’m glad you did. Because if you didn’t, she would probably be annoyed about that. But since I’ve now asked and made sure you did, you have my official permission to play that funky harp, white boy.”</p><p>            I try to pick out the opening notes of the Wild Cherry song he’s referencing, and probably just make a discordant mess. Still, Mr. A eyes the harp again, then grins widely and turns on his heel.</p><p>            “Right! Baru, I’m grabbing you for fight call. Doors open in about half an hour.”</p><p>            Then he disappears, tugging Baru along. I turn back to Penelope. “Ready for some last minute line running, Penetanguishene?”</p><p>            “Excuse me?”</p><p>            “Rural town, population eight thousand,” I fill in, flapping my hand. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go. I’m rusty on the Sir Topas scene.”</p><p>            “I’m not in that one!” Penelope protests and I grab her arm.</p><p>            “We’re not doing this for <em>you!</em>”</p><p>            We make it through a scene and a half before Baru returns, in his little mustard-yellow Andrew costume and noticeably out of breath. Penelope’s chilled out immensely and has started acting out the lines instead of reading ‘em in monotone.</p><p>            “Alright! You guys ready?” He’s practically exuberant with the energy of the warming up for his fight, and my nerves hop to life in response.</p><p>            “Always.”</p><p>            Penelope grins at that with a hint of something in her expression that I don’t understand. I side-eye her, then clap my hands.</p><p>            “Right! Costumes, pl<em>-ay</em>-cesss,” I singsong, and run off to the dressing rooms. Penelope laughs and chases me. I help her drag Cesario and Viola’s costumes out of the stack, then grab my own patchwork pants out of the stack. The rooster hat follows.</p><p>            I’m impressed with Penelope, actually; she dons the rag-situation for post-shipwreck, and has her little blue vest combo for Cesario arranged on its hanger and ready to go for a quick change. All without panicking or trying to run away.</p><p>            “Hell yeah,” I say quietly, clapping her on the shoulder as we leave the dressing rooms. She shoots me a look.</p><p>            Then we head back out, into the backstage. I stretch my arms out as we go, feeling that same loose, reckless energy that I always get just before a show. Baru’s the same, nearly hopping from foot to foot as the muffling noises of the crowd filter into the backstage. Penelope is cracking each knuckle in turn.</p><p>            I give her a little salute as she passes me to walk on for her first scene with her sister. Heloise’s sea captain has gained a thick Scottish accent, and Baru and I collapse into silent laughter backstage. Penelope’s first line comes out very confused-sounding, which I accredit to Heloise’s absurd accent, but from that point on, I gotta say, she’s hitting it out of the park.</p><p>            Haiza, like I said, is always fun to watch in her scenes with Leandro, but Penelope’s really shining from the outset.</p><p>            “Oh, my poor brother,” Penelope says, misery catching at her words. “And so perchance may he be.”</p><p>            I exchange an impressed look with Baru. We’re sitting together on one of the long rolly-platforms that tech puts out for the scene with Antonio and Viola. As I’m looking back at Penelope, though, he’s still looking at me. I glance back at him a second later. He looks catatonic. <em>Is he having a fit?</em></p><p>            “What?” I whisper.</p><p>            He flinches like he’s snapping out of a daze. “Uh… sorry. I just… It was cool of you to keep Penelope calm and everything. I mean… forget it.”</p><p>            “Oh.” I blink. “Thanks? I dunno, wouldn’t anyone have…?”</p><p>            Baru shrugs. “Forget it.”</p><p>            I squint at him and something occurs to me. <em>Oh, he’s also got a crush on me. Like, definitely. </em>I look back at Penelope, then shift closer to Baru so our hips are as lined up as they can be between two people with a height difference of nearly a foot. Baru’s head snaps around to look at me so fast I half-expect to hear a crack. I hold his gaze and wait. Sure enough, his mouth pops open a little like a goldfish and emits a faint noise of pain.</p><p>            Then I return my eyes to the stage and don’t move away. <em>Well. In this essay, I have proven my point. Now what the hell do I do?</em> I have many skills in life, one of which was staying single for sixteen years. <em>Am I supposed to ask him out?</em> I side-eye him. He’s not looking at me either, though he has made an impressive effort to turn bright red despite the blue lighting and his dark brown skin. <em>I could probably kiss him now, right? </em>Just based on the orientations of our heads, though, that might take a little contortion. <em>Also I don’t want to fry his brain before he goes onstage. Or mine, for that matter.</em> <em>Besides, that would be infringing on Daphne’s copyright.</em></p><p>With that magnificent array of excuses, I stamp down on the impulse.</p><p>            <em>But…</em></p><p>            I’ve had a little idea simmering in my brain soup the past week, involving taking advantage of Dad’s business trip and Isa’s party planning ability. A giftcard to Le Nordik would remove Mom from the equation too. <em>And then we’d have the house to ourselves…</em> A little cast party might be just the thing for our cliche gay love story. I stroke my woefully smooth chin and begin to plot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Bellona -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I have good news and bad news. For me, anyway. The good news is that I’m immune to Mel’s glowing smiles. The bad news is that they’re now extremely annoying.</p><p>            Her control of the tech booth is slipping its way down to hell as she continues to smile dreamily. I slide my chair over and lean all the way across her just to slam off the lights as she drifts in her trance.</p><p>            “Mel! Wake up!” I hiss, then abandon her and grab one ear of her comm and say, “Go, curtains.”</p><p>            Mel startles, and takes the comm back from me. “Huh? Sorry.” She grabs her thermos, downing the coffee in one go, then grabs the edges of her panel as if to anchor herself.</p><p>            “I’m going down for the officer scene in a sec,” I remind her. “Are you gonna manage?”</p><p>            Mel smiles beautifically again. “Of course.”</p><p>            <em>Goddamnit.</em> I give her a sharp look, then stand and shove open the door of the booth. Mel swears under her breath as she hits the wrong lights, giggling to herself.</p><p>            Strangely, it reminds me of when I first met Heloise. Mostly I remember coming over to the tech room, finding a short, heavy girl waiting with round eyes, and then pretending I couldn’t tell she was staring at me. <em>Iz said something like… ‘You broke her, Mel,’ or something.</em> I toss look over my shoulder at Mel’s silhouette, perfect posture poised over the panel, and definitely lagging behind the cues. <em>Well, looks like Heloise got her revenge.</em></p><p>            I’m early enough backstage that as I’m stripping off my top layer to get down to my base costume, Iz and Ivy are waiting. If I take an extra second to really slide my flannel off my shoulders to reveal the same black tanktop I’ve had for like four years, well, who’s <em>really</em> to say? Ivy’s eyes track me, gleaming like precious stones despite the darkness.</p><p>            I give her a challenging look. <em>Make a move, then.</em> I’m ready to shoot her down, for my own sanity. If I’ve been baiting her, so what? <em>Try it, Ivy.</em> She says nothing though, just keeps looking at me with what I’d describe as… an intense expression. Maybe a smoulder. I cock my head, but then she turns around and takes her place to enter.</p><p>            <em>How the tables turn…</em> Energy fizzes under my skin, made into frustration by the delay. <em>Is she ever going to? Are we just gonna be stuck in limbo forever?</em> I’ve planned my rejection line for weeks, but maybe I’ll never get to use it.</p><p>            A moment later, Ivy’s shout rings through the auditorium. “Put up your sword! If this young gentleman have done offence, I take the fault on me. If you offend him, I for him defy you!”</p><p>            She jumps down from the platform, circling Bruno and putting out a hand as if to shield ‘Sebastian’ from his wrath. Penelope looks appropriately puzzled.</p><p>            “You sir? Why, what are you?” Bruno scoffs.</p><p>            “One sir, that for his love dares yet do more than you have heard him brag to you he will.” Ivy usually injects that line with a bit of exhausted sarcasm, as if Antonio’s been dealing with Sebastian’s shenanigans for ages. Tonight, it comes out steady and low like she’s actually ready to cut Sir Toby open on Sebastian’s behalf.</p><p>            “Nay,” Bruno pulls his sword from the scabbard at his belt and points it at Ivy. The silver of Antonio’s lighting makes it look like a lightsaber. “If you be an undertaker, I am for you!”</p><p>            Iz shifts from foot to foot, ready for our entrance, but I’m transfixed for a moment by the way Ivy moves, leaping forward and swinging the sword behind her head to give Bruno time to put up his sword, as it were. The sound cue is a heartbeat late—<em>Goddamnit, Mel!</em>—but they continue to fight, unfazed. Izzie grabs my arm.</p><p>            “Wake up! Let’s go!” she whispers.</p><p>            <em>Well, guess I can’t throw stones.</em> I hurry after her as she walks on.</p><p>            I force out my lines as loud as I can, staring Ivy down. Because that’s what the scene calls for, and not because I’m just now noticing her fresh dye job involved enough purple mixed in that she seems to shimmer in the lights.</p><p>            “Will you deny me now?” Ivy rasps as Penelope holds out a few coins to her. “Is’t possible that my deserts to you can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery.” She swallows. “Least that it make me so unsound a man as to upbraid you with those kindnesses that I have done for you.”</p><p>            Penelope, with an impressive tone of bafflement, says, “I know of none. Nor know I you by voice or any feature.”</p><p>            I feel a tug in my chest as Ivy begins to shake her head, looking utterly pathetic. Iz shoves me. I say, “Come, sir, I pray you, go.”</p><p>            “Let me speak a little,” Ivy says, matching my soft tone, then turns her ice-cold gaze to Penelope. This whole scene is pretty sad, but I feel like it comes into sharper focus for me as Ivy says, “But oh, how vile an idol proves this god! Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. In nature there’s no blemish but the mind; none can be called deformed but the unkind. Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil are empty trunks o'erflourished by the devil.”</p><p>            I find my hands slick with sweat as I crush them into fists. <em>Fuck. Oh no, I’m about to make a bad choice.</em></p><p>            “The man grows mad. Away with him.” Izzie’s voice is just as dismissive as it needs to be.</p><p>            My own comes out rasping and pained. “Come, come, sir.”</p><p>            Ivy locks her gaze with mine as she says, “Lead me on.”</p><p>            I step aside to let her fall in line with Iz. I walk behind her, staying slow enough that I don’t get too close to her. She turns slightly, just enough to frame her profile in silver as Mel falls behind her cue again. I gulp. <em>What did Blaire tell me…?</em> My sister was in some kind of Mel-ish state of delirium after opening night and dreamily told me to follow my bliss, and do something for myself. <em>I guess ruining my life is kind of like doing something for myself.</em></p><p>            I’m ready to sidestep and sprint back up to the tech booth as we reach the backstage area, but Ivy’s in my way. I freeze and look down at her. She cocks her head. She’s got a light smattering of freckles over her nose, have I ever noticed that? I’m ready to use my rejection line, but that’s not what comes out when I open my mouth.</p><p>            Instead, sounding very strained, I ask her, “Gonna break my heart, ladykiller?”</p><p>            Ivy’s eyes flick across my face like she’s considering some kind of witty answer. Then she smiles, sort of bittersweetly, and says, “Nah.”</p><p>            My heart thumps but I sound pretty relaxed, I think, as I reply, “Good enough for me.”</p><p>            And even if it’s gonna ruin my life, I don’t care at all. Ivy reaches up, far more gently than I would’ve expected, and brushes her fingers along the line of my cheekbone to reach the side of my head in one hand, almost in a question as she pulls me down just a tiny bit. I give to the pressure, bend down, and kiss the girl I’ve been way too into for way too long.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. If This Were Played Upon a Stage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Greetinks friends foes and future children. I have brought for you today my last pre-written chapter of Twelfth Grade. As I pride myself on extreme slacking, I have managed not to write the finale, which means you will all be left hanging until I drink myself into a caffeine-filled writing stupor and bust it out in two hours. Let us all join hands and pray.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> <strong>- Isadora -</strong></p><p>
  
</p><p>The first words out of Blaire’s mouth when we hear the news are, “I didn’t do it.”</p><p>            I snort, but I believe her. Despite how evidently ecstatic she is that Bruno’s caught the flu going around, I think it’d have been quite the trick to figure out how to infect him. Strangely, Freddy’s been looking guilty. Now I wouldn’t put it past <em>him</em> to figure out how to biological-warfare Bruno out of the show.</p><p>            “At least Haiza’s back,” I point out. Leandro’s been squirting her with hand sanitizer all day even though she looks perfectly fine, standing over there next to him.</p><p>            Blaire’s eyes are practically twinkling. “A great relief. I’m so, so sad that my brother won’t be able to play his role tonight. On the closing night, and the sold-out show. This is really sad. I’m really sad.”</p><p>            “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen.” I poke her, and she shoves me back.</p><p>            “Well, I’m gonna have to listen to him hack up his lungs for a week after this, so it’s not a complete lie,” she sighs, then recovers in an instant. “Okay, when does the show open?! I need to get ready!”</p><p>            <em>Like she hasn’t been getting ready for this since she got Toby-understudy,</em> I think. “Two hours. Keep it cool, girl.”</p><p>            “I’m cool as a cucumber,” Blaire says, flapping a hand with too much zest for me to believe her, then speeds away to go tell Julio the news that he’s doubtlessly heard already.</p><p>            Mr. A approaches me after warm-up with a grave look. “Izzie, are you up for playing Fabian? Blaire’s gonna have to take over Toby because Bruno’s sick.”</p><p>            I know we’re both thinking of my audition where I completely choked and the dress rehearsal where I lent new meaning to the word ‘trainwreck,’ but looking at Blaire doing laps around Julio in her wheelchair, too excited to contain herself, I swallow that down and say, “‘Course! I’ve got a script already.”</p><p>            “I really appreciate it.” Mr. A gives me an apologetic smile. “And you’ve been doing a great job as ASM. Are you thinking of applying to be tech head for next year?”</p><p>            <em>Finally.</em> Speaking of waiting for this moment for months, I let out a long, cooling breath, and give the theatre teacher a subdued smile. “I am, actually.”</p><p>            “Well, my lips are sealed, but…” He winks, then disappears back into the crowd of the cast.</p><p>            I manage to keep my squeal internal, but Blaire spots me silently celebrating and whizzes over.</p><p>            “You got it?!” she asks.</p><p>            “Not yet,” I say, folding my hands to stop them from trembling. “But… my chances are looking good, apparently.”</p><p>            Blaire claps her hands. “Hell yes! No way he would tell you that unless he was a hundred percent gonna do it.”</p><p>            I try not to get too excited, because I don’t want to be disappointed later, but looking at Blaire as she vibrates with enthusiasm, I can’t help hoping she’s right.</p><p>            “And you’re playin’ Fabian tonight, right?” Blaire asks.</p><p>            I wince. “I sure am.”</p><p>            Blaire grins and pats my arm. “You’ll do great, kid. No time to run lines, though, we’re opening in twenty minutes. Good luck!”</p><p>            And she’s disappearing again, wheeling herself up the ramp to the backstage area.</p><p>            “Thanks. And I’m <em>older than you!</em>” I call after her, getting another dismissive wave.</p><p>            Still, even though my stomach feels like I’ve eaten a sandwich with gluten in it (yes, I <em>actually</em> have celiac disease—my gluten-freeness is not a fad), I rub my hands together and head backstage. Fabian’s costume is the basic white undershirt that most of the male characters wear with a rough brown vest over it, and I tie my hair back to keep it out of my face.</p><p>            The last minutes are a blur of Mr. A running around, wishing everyone broken legs, staring at the script whose lines refuse to properly stick in my brain, and breaking into a cold sweat as the lights dim.</p><p>            “If music be the food of love…”</p><p>            And Lee’s off again, delivering the iconic monologue for the very last time. Heloise and I work in practiced silence, each transition buttery smooth from a week worth of practice and adrenaline-induced hyper-focus. Mel and I exchange clipped instructions, each word conserved and underscored by mutual understanding of every piece of our tech set-up.</p><p>            In no time at all, we’ve reached Fabian’s first scene. I touch Heloise’s shoulder with shaking hands in a gesture of <em>good luck</em>, and she whispers the same to me, taking the headset and slipping it over her honey-blond curls. Belle and I have commiserated plenty over what their budding relationship has meant for our tech crew’s efficacy but in all honesty, I’m really happy to see her and Mel together. I know even Mel was in a bit of a funk after the break-up, and Heloise is so sweet and genuine that I think they really complement each other.</p><p>            “Come thy ways, Signor Fabian,” Blaire announces, rolling in fast enough that I have to jog to catch her.</p><p>            “Nay, I’ll come,” I answer, definitely too quietly. The lights onstage are hot and right in my eyes, but I can still see the dark swath of the audience stretching out in front of me. <em>And now I say…</em> I falter, then announce, “If I lose this sport, let me be boiled with melancholy.”</p><p>            “Wouldst thou not be glad to have the miserly, rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?” Blaire says, grinning and tapping her fingers like castanets. The audience laughs. The lines burst out of her, ringing loud and still sounding like we’re just having a conversation.</p><p>            “I would…” I pause. <em>Well, damn.</em></p><p>            Blaire grins again and half-shouts, “You would exult? I know, he brought you out o' favor with my niece about a bear-baiting here.”</p><p>            “He sure did,” I answer and Blaire’s straight face doesn’t crack for an instant. <em>Nice save,</em> I mouth to her. <em>Guess it’s useful to have a scene partner who knows both her lines and mine.</em></p><p>            Whoever in the audience knows that Blaire had to fill my line is having the time of their life. Everyone else gets a chuckle out of my anachronism, anyway.</p><p>            “To anger him, we’ll have the bear again,” Blaire declares, then wheels around in her chair fast enough to nearly crash into Baru who has just entered, “and we will fool him black and blue. Shall we not, Sir Andrew?”</p><p>            Baru gives him a little bow, looking rather stuffed into his mustard-yellow finery. “And we do not, it is pity of our lives.”</p><p>            I manage to fade into the background a bit as Daphne enters, looking as alive and dramatic as I’ve ever seen her. She and Blaire play off each other beautifully; as Daphne takes centre to explain the plan—<em>Stepping into the light,</em> I note with satisfaction as the lights gleam off her brown ringlets—Blaire reacts with comically exaggerated expressions, egging Daphne on until they’re practically miming the entire monologue to each other.</p><p>            “'Tis but fortune, all is fortune.”</p><p>            That heralds Julio, who swans across the stage in his long white robe, practically petting his pendant. If I thought Daphne and Blaire made for a potent combination, the chemistry is palpable once Julio and Blaire start playing off each other. Malvolio technically doesn’t even know Sir Toby’s there, but I’m still impressed by how they instinctively balance the stage between them.</p><p>            “What should I think on ’t?” Julio asks the audience, stroking his chin thoughtfully.</p><p>            Blaire winks at me, then hisses, “Here’s an overweening rogue!” while wheeling forward. I react, probably a beat too late, and grab the back of her wheelchair to rein her in. I know from the grin she shoots me that’s what she intended.</p><p>            “Um…” I fumble for the line and before Blaire can jump in to save me again, announce, “He looks like a turkey!”</p><p>            Blaire finally breaks character with a startled yelp of laughter echoed by the audience.</p><p>            <em>God, I’m gonna be adlibbing more than Freddy, </em>I think. Still, my blush is more from frenetic energy than from embarrassment.</p><p>            Luckily for me, most of the scene is just loudly shushing Blaire as she continues to make threats of violence to the blissfully unaware Malvolio. We exit in a fit of giggles, Blaire punching my arm in a poor attempt to get me to shut up. At least the audience is laughing along.</p><p>            By the time I’ve got my composure back (act three), Fabian’s onstage again. I’ve been mouthing the monologue about fourteen times in a row, and wipe my sweaty hands on my pants before entering with Baru and Blaire.</p><p>            “Marry, I saw your niece do more favors to the Count’s servingman than ever she bestowed upon me. I saw it in the orchard,” Baru whines.</p><p>            “Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that,” Blaire insists, putting herself in his way. Baru steps to the left and Blaire blocks his path, then he moves to the right and she goes with him.</p><p>            “As plain as I see you now,” Baru exclaims.</p><p>            “This was a great argument of love in her toward you,” I say wisely, tapping my temple. I’ve finally gotten the hang of speaking my lines loud enough for at least the front row to hear me. Everyone else will have to piece it together on their own.</p><p>            “She did show favor to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valor, to put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver,” I explain. Blaire gestures grandly as if to punctuate my points. “You should then have accosted her, and with some excellent jests, you should have banged the youth into dumbness! You are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion, where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman’s beard”—Blaire begins to mime the world’s tiniest violin—“unless you redeem yourself by some attempt either of valor or policy.”</p><p>            “An ’t be any way, it must be with valor, for policy I hate,” Baru grumbles. “I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.”</p><p>            We banish Sir Andrew to go write his letter of challenge to Cesario, then Blaire whirls around back to face me with mirth glimmering in her gaze that I’m certain isn’t entirely feigned. <em>Oh no, it’s my line, isn’t it?</em></p><p>            “You’re about to say that he’s been a dear manikin to me, aren’t you?” Blaire says without missing a beat and nods. “I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.”</p><p>            <em>Saved again.</em> I fish for the wording of my line and come up with, “His letter’s going to be interesting. You won’t deliver it, right?”</p><p>            “Never trust me, then,” Blaire says with another wicked grin. Sharing her conspiratorial look, once again I’m struck with the feeling that it’s not feigned at all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Leandro -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            Blaire is on fire. Also based on how fast she moves her wheels, that might be literally true soon. Jokes I’ve never been able to understand before click into place when she gestures lewdly or takes long swigs from her empty tin tankard. Moments where the audience has seemed half-asleep before have turned into riotous laughter. She’s brilliant, and definitely learned all her lines, but really, it’s nothing compared to when she’s on with Julio.</p><p>            “Which way is he, in the name of sanctity?” Blaire shouts, rocketing onstage again, leading her brigade of Maria and Fabian.</p><p>            “Here he is,” Izzie calls. “How is’t with you, man?”</p><p>            Jules has cast off his sneer in favour of a dreamy smile, but the sneer makes its encore when he notices them. Blaire watches him with an expectant grin as Jules waves his hand to dismiss them.</p><p> “Go to, go to! Peace, peace,” Blaire hushes her party. “We must deal gently with him. Let me alone.”</p><p>            Then she wheels herself over to Jules, clears her throat, and asks gently, “How do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you?”</p><p>            Julio looks down, contemptful, at her.</p><p>            Then in an explosive yell that catches everyone but Julio by surprise, Blaire clutches her chest and bellows, “What, man, defy the devil! Consider, he’s an enemy to mankind!”</p><p>            I can’t help clapping my hands together like a kid as I watch them go back and forth, scenes that I don’t doubt they’ve practiced together a hundred times finally being shown off to all of us, each word as precise as lightning strikes.</p><p>            “Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray,” Daphne urges.</p><p>            “My prayers, minx?” Julio demands, curling his lip.</p><p>            Blaire wheels herself in front of Daphne in an unexpectedly touching act of protectiveness. Daphne rolls her eyes and announces, “No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.”</p><p>            The second Blaire and Julio are done, though, my mind returns to the one thing I’ve been desperately trying to get out of my head. Act two, scene four.</p><p>            Mostly the way Haze tilted her head and said, “You cannot love her. You tell her so. Must she not then be answered?”</p><p>            It took me a second too long to turn away, caught on the way she stared so earnestly at me. It took me another second after that to put on the light misogyny of Orsino as I said, “No woman’s heart is so big, to hold so much. They lack retention.”</p><p>            And I looked back in time to see the painfully desperate look on her face as I said, “But mine is all as hungry as the sea.”</p><p>            <em>She’s a good actress, that’s all,</em> I tell myself. Right now, she’s on the other side of the backstage, ready for the next scene; almost the last scene, where again I’ll take her hand and hold my breath so the real truth doesn’t spill out of me. The last scene, for the last time. This wonderful thing is almost over.</p><p>            “Ay, but I know,” she said, voice breaking.</p><p>            “What dost thou know?”</p><p>            “Too well what love women to men may owe.”</p><p>            Now I’m thinking of all the times we were running lines in her room, mine, in between classes, over the phone way after we both should’ve been asleep.</p><p>            <em>“That’s how Shakespeare showed the strongest couples, you know,” she observed to me, both of us a little delirious and more than a little sleep-deprived from running the same scenes for hours. She’d flung her arm over the side of my bed, and then when I’d sat back down, her arm had found itself fitted behind my head and over my shoulders. Neither of us said anything about it, not even when she started idly fiddling with my hair as though she’d mistaken it for my sheet. “The verse. I mean, the metre, or whatever. They literally finish each other’s sentences.”</em></p><p>
  <em>            “That’s the nerdiest shit ever,” I’d half-giggled, emboldened by her fingers at my neck, and turned to grin at her. We were close, so close I probably would’ve felt her eyelashes on my cheek if she blinked too hard.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>            “I think it’s romantic,” she said and smiled too. Then like the coward I am, I hurried off to get us a refill; mountain dew for her, cherry coke for me.</em>
</p><p>“A blank, my lord. She never told her love,” Haiza said, and for the first time in the four performances we’ve had together, didn’t do the Cesario intonation. Just in time for the last time she’ll ever say the line. “She pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like patience on a monument—smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?”</p><p>            Sitting backstage now, I realize something. <em>She wasn’t pretending to be someone else. That was… that was just her…</em> For the first time in about four years I wonder, <em>Is it possible that she doesn’t just think of me as a friend?</em></p><p>Maybe Shakespeare’s turning my brain into melodramatic mush, but goddamn, it would be the most Haze thing ever if she took the last performance as a chance to tell me something in Shakespeare-code. Now I’m remembering every little look, every touch, and re-evaluating.</p><p>            The way her hand curled around mine when I handed her the jewel after the waltzing. Fuck, the <em>waltzing</em>, when she was looking anywhere except me. I thought that was a Cesario thing too.</p><p>            <em>My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye hath stayed upon some favour that it loves. Hath it not, boy?<br/>            A little, by your favour.</em> The way she looked up at me, pressing her lips together as if to keep back a bittersweet smile.</p><p>            I feel lightheaded. <em>Either I’m going insane or I’m </em>not <em>doomed to eternal loneliness. I guess mistakenly thinking your long-shot-affections are being returned is also very Twelfth Night, though.</em> And considering Malvolio’s fate, do I want to risk it? I think of the snowflakes and her cold hands and then think,<em> Yup, I sure do.</em></p><p>            The question is actually, am I brave enough to take the chance?</p><p>            <em>Definitely not.</em></p><p>            Well, I can’t do it now, anyway. In public would be nightmarishly embarrassing for everyone involved, particularly if it went south.<em> Didn’t Freddy say he was going to organize a cast party or something? Maybe… if we get a chance alone,</em> I promise myself. <em>And if she still seems… like that… after we’re not speaking in Shakespeare-lines.</em></p><p>There is still a non-zero chance that this is entirely my brain making this up, but I’m desperate to think it isn’t. <em>C’mon, Billy Shakes, you’re my only hope,</em> I think as I enter for the last scene.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Corinne -</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            “What?” I demand of Moiz for the thousandth time as he chokes on another wheezing laugh.</p><p>            “Nothing!” he swears again. “Nothing, nothing.”</p><p>            I give him a suspicious look, then shake out my heavy skirt and get ready to enter for the last scene. Just before I do, Moiz makes a noise.</p><p>            “Oops, Julio forgot the letter,” he comments, as if to himself, and snatches a folded up paper off the prop table next to us and hurries off to find him.</p><p>            I take a deep breath and enter, savouring the way the light turns orange to signify me and my power. This is my favourite scene; the last one, where just about every character gets their moment, and every snag and every unexplained bit of misunderstanding snaps into sharp focus. It’s also dramatic as hell and watching Lee and Haze shout at each other is satisfying.</p><p>            When Moiz finally enters, he’s looking weirdly pleased with himself.</p><p>            “I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman,” he says and I gawk at him.</p><p>            Ivy stands with her hands tied, next to Lee, and stares at Moiz with the same expression of utter bafflement.</p><p>            “Antonio, oh my dear Antonio!” Moiz continues, hurrying over to Ivy. Maybe it’s the last-show-recklessness that’s making all of us a little crazy, but he bearhugs her, then cups her cheek like they’re not heterosexual life partners.</p><p>            “Sebastian, are you?” she asks.</p><p>            “Fear’st thou that, Antonio?”</p><p>            “How have you made division of yourself?” Ivy rasps. “An apple cleft in two is not more twin than these two creatures.” She points at Haze, who’s discreetly pulling her sash a little looser so it hangs the same way her brother’s does. “Which is Sebastian?”</p><p>            “Most <em>wonderful</em>,” I exclaim, and get the usual burst of laughter.</p><p>            Haiza and Moiz step forward as if they’re the only ones onstage. Mel and Belle turn the lights to the powder blue of their vests. Haiza slowly raises one hand and Moiz copies it, so nearly synced that it’s almost impossible to tell who moved first. A hush falls over the audience.</p><p>            “I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,” Moiz murmurs, stepping forward. “And say ‘Thrice-welcome, drownèd Viola!’”</p><p>            “My father had a mole upon his brow.”</p><p>            “And so had mine.”</p><p>            “And died that day when Viola from her birth had numbered thirteen years.”</p><p>            “Oh, that record is lively in my soul!” Moiz turns to the audience, a hint of his old puppy-dog energy in his voice. “He finished indeed his mortal act that day that made my sister thirteen years.”</p><p>            <em>It made you thirteen too, dumbass, you’re twins.</em> But I shouldn’t speak that way to my future husband.</p><p>            “Do not embrace me till each circumstance of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump,” Haiza runs out of breath and then spreads her arms wide and tells him, “that I am Viola.”</p><p>            Despite her words, Moiz steps forward to give her a big hug too.</p><p>            I hear a few <em>aww</em>s in the audience and smile.</p><p>            Then finally, Lee steps forward and looks to Haiza. There’s something different about him, a hopeful uptilt in his voice to counterbalance the storm of rage minutes before. “Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times… thou never shouldst love woman like to me.”</p><p>            “And all those sayings will I overswear; and those swearings keep as true in soul,” Haze promises for the last time.</p><p>            Moiz bounds over to stand with me, and I give him a little pat on the head to draw attention to the height difference, mostly because I think it is very funny. He grins at me with something I can’t quite read in his expression, then looks back to watch as Lee and Haze finally take hands.</p><p>            “The captain that did bring me first on shore hath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action, is now in durance at Malvolio’s suit, a gentleman and follower of my lady’s,” Haze tells Leandro, cheeks flushed with the thrill of the last show.</p><p>            “He shall enlarge him,” I promise. Izzie and Freddy enter as I command, “Fetch Malvolio hither: and yet, alas, now I remember me, they say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract. A most extracting frenzy of mine own from my remembrance clearly banished his. How does he, sirrah?”</p><p>            Freddy grins, then puts on a grave look. “Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the staves' end as well as a man in his case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given ’t you today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are delivered.”</p><p>            I snap my fingers at him. “Open it, and read it.”</p><p>            “Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers the madman,” Freddy declares, ripping open the paper with gusto, and screams at the top of his lungs, so loud that I and half the cast jump, “<em>BY THE LORD, MADAM!”</em></p><p>            “How now!” I shout over him when my heart’s recovered, raising and then lowering my hands in a quieting gesture. The audience laughs as I give him a stare. “Art <em>thou </em>mad?”</p><p>            “No, madam,” he says, perfectly patient, “I do but <em>read </em>madness. And your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow <em>vox.</em>”</p><p>            I give him a look that says, <em>I sure as fuck don’t have to allow </em>vox<em>, </em>then say aloud, with the most exhausted, so-sick-of-this tone I can muster, “Prithee, read in thy right wits.”</p><p>            Freddy pouts. “So I <em>do</em>, madonna. But to read <em>his </em>right wits is to read thus. Therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear!” He opens his mouth, drawing in an enormous breath like he’s getting ready to let another scream rip.</p><p>            I step forward and snatch the letter from his hands. “Read it you, sirrah.” and slap it into Izzie’s chest.</p><p>            She sighs, dusts the paper off, and begins to read without <em>vox</em>.</p><p>            “Did he write this?” I ask her.</p><p>            Izzie gives me a blank look and Freddy pipes up from behind her, “Ay, madam.”</p><p>            “This savors not much of distraction,” Lee points out. He and Haze are still half-attached to each other.</p><p>            “See him delivered,” I order and gesture for Izzie to exit. “Fabian; bring him hither.”</p><p>            Once she’s gone, Lee delivers another sappy monologue, staring at Haiza like she’s the sun. Then Haze turns to me with a dazzling smile and announces, “A sister, you are she.”</p><p>            A moment later, Izzie returns with a rather dishevelled-looking Julio.</p><p>            “Madam, you have done me wrong,” he announces without preamble. “Notorious wrong.”</p><p>            I shake my head. “Have I, Malvolio? No.”</p><p>            He produces the letter that Moiz tracked him down for and says, “Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter.”</p><p>            As he passes it to me, Moiz bursts into muffled giggles. I shoot him a look, then flip open the letter and start reading.</p><p>            My eyes catch on the first line. Julio launches into an explanation of the whole trick, but I can barely hear it because…</p><p>            <strong>Malvolio’s Marvelous Pick-up Lines </strong>is written in rather sloppy handwriting. And beneath it… I scan over each one, pressing my lips together so tightly that I feel them about to burst.</p><p>            <em>Art thou good Mistress Accost? Because I desire better acquaintance.</em></p><p>
  <em>            Art thou an undertaker? Because I am for you!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>            Art thou a fool? Because I want to take you away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>            Art thou Malvolio? Because how is’t with you, gurl?</em>
</p><p>            I’m in tears by the time Julio demands, “Tell me why!”</p><p>            I open my mouth to deliver my line and all that comes out is a long stream of garbled profanities and laughter. The ‘letter’ is signed by Antonio and Sebastian, so I have no doubt who was behind this. I also have no doubt as to why Moiz was giggling away. Finally, I gasp and catch my breath, a last tear streaking my cheek.</p><p>            “Alas, Malvolio,” I rasp, pressing back another helpless bout of laughter. “this is not my writing, though, I confess, much like the character. But out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.”</p><p>            Daphne’s long gone, eloped with Blaire already. Still, I vaguely gesture in their direction.</p><p>            Izzie staggers through Fabian’s explanation, her brother swooping way too early to cut her off. Which was probably for the best.</p><p>            “But do you remember?” Freddy asks, stalking over to Julio with a knife-sharp smile, then lowers his voice to mimic Malvolio. “‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal; an you smile not, he’s gagged?’” He sighs and smiles. “And thus the whirrrrrligig of time brings in his revenges.” Freddy taps Julio’s nose, who immediately slaps his hand away.</p><p>            “I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you,” Julio snarls and whips around to stalk offstage.</p><p>            As he goes, I look at Moiz and think the same thing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Hermelinda -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “Why are you humming that?’</p><p>            I blink at Belle, innocent as a baby deer. “Humming? Oh, sorry.”</p><p>            Once she’s turned back to the stage out our window, I click on the screen of the dusty tech computer. It’s still on the screen I opened it to. The sound system’s mixer in one window, files in another, and my own google drive in a third.</p><p>            <em>Add audio files?</em> The mixer program asks.</p><p>            <em>Yes, please,</em> I think. It opens the pop-up. I move away from local documents.</p><p>            “What are you up to over there?” Belle cranes her head and I square my shoulder to hide the screen from her.</p><p>            “Oh, nothing.”</p><p>            <em>Perfection - Final Ver. </em>I drag the audiofile into the sound system mixer and wait a moment for Ms. Cary’s piano as the final scene winds to a close. It doesn’t get a chance to play.</p><p>            “Here we go,” I say.</p><p>            Belle’s expression of confusion turns into an interesting mix of terror and grudging respect.</p><p>            Rasputin by Boney M’s opening drums flood the auditorium, drowning out Ms. Cary’s piano.</p><p>            “Hey, hey, hey,” I murmur along.</p><p>            And then the recording I made of the cast singing <em>When that I was and a Little Tiny Boy</em> kicks in over the instrumental, their lyrics flying past so fast that most of the people onstage don’t even bother trying to keep up.</p><p>            Haiza’s the one to start clapping in time, which catches among the rest of the cast, then through the whole audience until the massive, packed room is clapping along. As the second run of the lyrics begins, a couple of the cast members start singing. Izzie and Freddy are really the only ones who keep up with the speed, and step forward to start dancing.</p><p>            I clap too, spinning to grin at Belle. She shakes her head, a laugh bubbling out of her.</p><p>            “Goddamn,” is all she says. “Fucking hell.”</p><p>            I tap my headphones, then turn back to watch the rest of the cast turn up to my Rapsutin-Shakespeare remix.</p><p>            “Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Leandro pumps a fist and even Julio’s begun to shift from foot to foot in time with the music.</p><p>            Freddy has grabbed Baru’s hands and started swinging him around like he’s going to do shot put. Blaire takes Daphne’s hand as well, both of them spinning loops around the cast. Cory and Izzie throw their heads back, more and more joining in until the whole cast is dancing with varying levels of coordination.</p><p>            <em>A great while ago, the world begun, with a hey-ho the wind and the rain, but that’s all one, our play is done and we’ll strive to please you e-very dayyy, </em>the recording sings, then finally stops.</p><p>            “Ohhhh, those Russians!” Blaire shouts, and the cast laughs. Then they form the shakiest line I’ve ever seen for the final bow.</p><p>            I should hardly have to say it, but the audience surges to their feet in a standing ovation. I savour the sounds of the cheers and whistles.</p><p>            “Good show,” I say to Heloise through the headset.</p><p>            “That was you, wasn’t it?” she giggles.</p><p>            “Mm.”</p><p>            “Pretty sure the audience thinks we planned that.”</p><p>            “Well, I planned it, and everyone else is good at improvising.”</p><p>            Heloise laughs again. “Ms. Cary’s going to kill you.”</p><p>            “Eh, I can take her.”</p><p>            “I’m sure,” Heloise says, and I can hear her smile. “Now come down, show’s over. I miss you, up there.”</p><p>            I snort but can’t help a little blush too. “Do you, now? Well, I’ll be down in a minute unless Ms. Cary gets to me first.”</p><p>            “Godspeed,” she says, then I hear a click as the comm shuts off.</p><p>            I grin and swing off the chair, stretching my arms out and feeling terribly pleased with myself. Belle shoots me a look.</p><p>            “Jealous, sweetheart?”</p><p>            She rolls her eyes.</p><p>            “How’s Ivy?” I ask.</p><p>            Belle leans back in her chair and examines her manicured nails. “Oh, yeah, I kissed her last night. We’re going out on Sunday.”</p><p>            “What?!” I immediately sit back down. “Tell me everything.”<br/>            She snorts, but I know she’s satisfied. “Nothing really to tell. It was… kind of inevitable.”</p><p>            “Now what, though? How are you feeling?”<br/>            Belle shrugs. “A little terrified and a little excited? Well, you weren’t the one to turn me gay, so I have to hope she won’t break my heart.”</p><p>            “That’s the spirit!” And then I leave her in the tech booth, hurrying down the auditorium’s aisles, sprinting past the parents and up the stairs to the stage to greet Heloise and my brothers.</p><p>            Heloise comes out from backstage, the commset slung around her neck and her cheeks bright red from the adrenaline. She nearly stumbles into me, then stands on her tiptoes to kiss me.</p><p>            I pull her in close, then straighten, breathless, and grin down at her. “So, you enjoyed Rasputin, eh?”</p><p>            “I did!” Blaire volunteers in a yell from the other side of the stage and laughter runs through the cast.</p><p>            Keeping an arm around Heloise’s waist, we forge into the clump of theatre kids, every last one of us practically buzzing with exhausted ecstasy. Julio’s speaking animatedly to Blaire, more excited than I’ve seen him in a long time.</p><p>            “And the fuckin’—” he breaks off into a laugh, then turns to me when I <em>hm</em> to signal my approach. “Mel! That was great, wasn’t it? How’d you… the Rasputin thing was you.”</p><p>            It’s not a question, but I say, “Sure was. Audacity is a miracle.”</p><p>            “Brilliant,” he says, grinning wider than I actually thought he could.</p><p>            “Where’s Lee?”<br/>            “Oh, he and Haze are… y’know.” Jules waves a hand. “And Blaire, the fucking exorcism, I can’t believe…”</p><p>            I exchange a look with Heloise and we leave Blaire, Julio, Daphne, and Izzie to excitedly relive the euphoria of the show. As Julio said, Leandro is standing with Moiz, Cory, and Haze. Cory’s showing them something, stabbing a finger at Moiz and absolutely shaking with laughter. Even as Moiz and Haze join in, reading bits off the letter, my brother is staring in the most obvious way at Haze as she laughs.</p><p>            I pause and Heloise looks up at me. Then I shrug. “Yeah, nevermind, I’ll talk to him later. Let’s go find Penelope.”</p><p>            Belle eventually comes down to join us and Ivy and Izzie peel away from their groups to form a tech-huddle-plus-Penelope.</p><p>            “Nice work, everyone,” I announce. “And I was tipped off that apparently Izzie has been named my successor.”</p><p>            “Not quite yet.” Even she is red-cheeked and glowing. “But… hopefully.”</p><p>            “I’ll throw my weight around,” I promise.</p><p>            “You’re a darling,” Izzie laughs. “Oh, before I forget, Freddy’s inviting you all to a cast party next Friday. There will apparently be karaoke and a Malvolio-shaped, custom-ordered pinata involved. I don’t know… how he’s gonna pull that off, but yeah.”</p><p>            I’m sure after I one-upped his harp, he’s itching to reclaim that particular crown of chaos. I shrug. “I have faith.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well this is sort of fun! We’ve finished the last show, much emotion in me all around. Now’s a good time to tell you all that I performed in Twelfth Night with a whole bunch of amigos. The pick-up line letter was an actual prank performed on a friend of mine by me and a couple others which of course you would know if you followed me on Tumblr akitsune-lune always be plugging, and I’ve sprinkled in a few other real-life moments. Now here’s the million dollar question that probably has an obvious answer. <br/>Who did I play in Twelfth Night?<br/>also if you saw the typo where I wrote 'she rolls her ears'... no you didn't &lt;3</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. An Improbable Fiction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ah it took me a mere month longer than I expected to finish this. Lmao I’m sorry but if you’ve been keeping up with Waning Moon you know I’ve had Some Shit going on. Anyway. This has been a really lovely project to work on bc I know it has like 0 broad appeal but I really care about it. Ok so let’s finish up.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>- Fredrik -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Improbably, I am having the most trouble with my playlist. Your music taste is a very tender, personal thing in my opinion, and I worry that my combination of The Horne Section, Tiny Meat Gang, random sea shanties that sound like they were recorded on a Nokia toaster, and Harry Styles will perhaps be ruthlessly judged by my soon-arriving guests.</p><p>            “Just do Arctic Monkeys!” Isa calls from the other side of the house where she’s arranging snacks. “Doesn’t Baru love them?”</p><p>            “<em>Moiz</em> loves them.” She is clearly not caught up on her Tandon lore. “Oh, whatever,” I mumble, flipping through Spotify for the millionth time. I’ll just play what <em>I </em>want and whoever gets judgy will be ejected through the chimney. With any luck, we won’t be <em>listening</em> to music for too long.</p><p>            The Malvolio pinata is in fact a ‘mean school principal’ pinata, but I think it’s close enough. I took a highlighter to its socks. Isa has handled the drinks and snaccs wonderfully; we have a nice buffet table of processed sugar and saturated fat, and little pyramids of cans of pop. Dad is in Tokyo for work, timezones away from our madness, and as I knew it would, the spa coupon worked beautifully on our mom. Now we have the house to ourselves and a carefully selected itinerary of teenage delinquency. Well, extremely PG deliquency. I hate drunk people more than anything and I’m somewhat afraid of what part of myself might emerge if I got high.</p><p>            It feels like a quarter of a century before the doorbell rings, chiming through the house’s speakers. I sprint up from the basement but Isa gets there first, looking the perfect hostess with her white braid and blue romper—<em>Seasonally incorrect, but family gets leeway—</em>and pulling open the door to reveal a small crowd of Blaire, Belle, Daphne, Julio, and Ivy.</p><p>            Unsurprisingly, Julio’s elected to show up in a hoodie and jeans. Everyone else is a little more dressed for the occasion, which for Blaire means a cute orange dress and for Ivy means a walking advertisement for Hot Topic. Isa beckons them in and starts herding them to the living room.</p><p>            “Sup, Julio.” I suspect he may only be here because Blaire kidnapped him, but if Isa’s going to be sticking with her crowd of friends I may as well latch on to the only guy I’m even vaguely friends with.</p><p>            He nods. “Lee ‘n Mel are coming. I think Mel’s with her girlfriend and Lee went over to drag Haiza here.”</p><p>            At the mention of those two, I glance at where Ivy’s paused at the archway to the living room and grin. “You’ve lost, eh? Julio?”<br/>            “Nah, they’re still not together,” Julio confirms, drifting over to Ivy with his cane mapping out our house in front of him.</p><p>            Ivy folds her arms and then steps aside to let Julio head into the living room with the girls. “I said cast party, Freddy, not <em>before </em>the cast party. I’ve still got a fighting chance.”</p><p>            Somehow, it got through the cast that there was a betting pool on when Haiza and Leandro would get together. My money’s on ‘never’ because they’re both deeply awkward people and the sun will die before one of them comes clean about their feelings. Ivy and Belle are slightly more charitably betting on ‘by the end of the cast party.’ Heloise, Isa, Moiz, and Blaire have all already lost their ten bucks when nothing happened on the last performance. Cory was absurdly optimistic and <em>deeply </em>wrong with her estimation of ‘dress rehearsal.’</p><p>            “We’ll see,” I say, and the doorbell rings again. “Right. Off you go. I must greet the guests.”</p><p>            “If you sabotage them, no one will find your body,” Ivy promises in a tone that suggests we’re discussing the superior Starburst flavour (lemon), then disappears off to the living room with the rest of her friends.</p><p>            It is in fact not the targets of my sabotage. Instead, the Feddersens and Mel have turned up on my doorstep in varying levels of ‘I spent time on my appearance.’ The bottom rung is Cory. She <em>may </em>have trimmed her shaggy hair and I will take that as a compliment. Then Mel, but she’s always in semi-dressy clothes. Heloise has gone unexpectedly masc with a navy blazer and her hair up, and Pendleton Woolen Mills is wearing a truly jealous-making galaxy-patterned jacket and sunglasses. Also utterly wrong for early spring but she looks so snazzy it makes me angry.</p><p>            “Ah, look what the cat dragged in.” I direct them on leaving their shoes in the mudroom, then escort them to the living room. “Everyone’s in here. Mel, where the hell is your brother?”</p><p>            “Lee? Somewhere with the Tandons. They’re probably late,” Mel says.</p><p>            This was my very subtle way of asking after Baru. Moiz is chronically punctual, which makes me very afraid that something terrible has happened to them all. Or maybe Leandro and Haiza got together minutes ago, the sun died, everyone’s about to freeze to death instantly, and I just lost ten bucks.</p><p>            Could be either.</p><p>            Still, everyone’s in the living room with a bottle of pop and performing an oral history of every slightly entertaining thing that happened during the entire course of rehearsals and show week by the time the doorbell rings again. There’s not a chance in hell of Isa stealing the first greet this time; I shoot off the couch next to Penny-farthing and through the house faster than I’ve moved since I electrocuted myself with a pipecleaner that one time.</p><p>            “Welcome, welcome, welcome,” I sing as I fling the doors open to reveal Tandons-plus-Leandro. “I’m so glad—” I clear my throat. “Uh. Glad to see you all. Coats there. Shoes there. Living room through there. Grab a snack.”</p><p>            Lee and Haze drift over to the dining room to peruse the selection of soda, Moiz waves then strolls off to the living room, and Baru is… intimidatingly attractive, considering what I was gonna try tonight. He got a haircut, silky black hair neatly combed to one side, and he’s wearing a sort of v-neck pink sweater that I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him in. It may belong to his older brother.</p><p>            <em>In for a penny.</em> “You clean up nice, don’t you?”</p><p>            He raises his eyebrows, then slips off his shoes and says, halfway into his own sweater, “Yeah, so do you.”</p><p>            I clear my throat again. <em>Well, this is going horrendously.</em> “Can’t believe you didn’t let me cut your hair.”</p><p>            “Don’t chase me with a razor next time and we can talk.”</p><p>            “I was only chasing you because you wouldn’t sit still.”</p><p>            “Sure, but non-consensual long-distance hair-cutting shouldn’t be your next step.”</p><p>            Such a stupid thing to laugh at but it still gets a snort out of me. Baru grins at that. Agh. I swallow quite determinedly then nudge everyone’s shoes further onto the rack and wave Baru on. “Right. Go get something to drink and meet back up with everyone in the living room.”</p><p>            Baru steps out of the mudroom, then pauses and turns back to me. He worries at his lip, giving me an unreadable look, then says, “Did you invite Bruno?”</p><p>            “Naw.” Something loosens in his shoulders. I squint at him. “Didn’t want an outbreak. And, y’know, Daphne was coming… didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Y’know.” <em>Y’know. Y’know.</em></p><p>            His brows raise. “Huh. When’d you get…” He gestures vaguely. “Thoughtful?” I just sort of stare at him. He stares back, then gives a half-strangled laugh. “Forget it.”</p><p>            “You’re always welcome to tell me how great I am,” I assure him, which comes out less confidently than it was supposed to. Baru turns like he’s gonna go into the dining room, then turns back to me. Fuck. I had a <em>plan</em>.</p><p>            “Thanks for not inviting Bruno,” he mumbles.</p><p>            “Huh? Why?”</p><p>            Baru starts fiddling with his hair, messing up the perfect comb-over. <em>Fuck, fuck, fuck.</em> “I dunno. Forget it.” But he keeps talking. “I just feel weird around him. Like, grade ten versus grade twelve…” He waves his hand as if that’s gonna explain it. “And I know you probably like him better.”</p><p>            “That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard you say and you once told me you were confident you’d survive in a zombie apocalypse because learning to drive stick-shift would mean you could commandeer a helicopter.”</p><p>            He frowns. “Stick-shift is apparently—”</p><p>            “I don’t like Bruno better. You should chill, eh? Don’t compare yourself to everyone else.”</p><p>            Baru swallows. “Yeah.”<br/>            “Besides, you’re—” Now I’m the one miming like an idiot. “It’s not like…”</p><p>            “What? What?”</p><p>            I huff a laugh. “Literally, fuck this.” Then I reach out and sort of pull him toward me with his arm.</p><p>            “You’re not—” Baru sort of gapes at me, now very much closer than he was before, looking up at me with a mixture of confused skepticism and fear. Not ideal. Surely I can fix this. “This isn’t a joke.”</p><p>            “No, it’s not.” And then I lean down and kiss him. In its infinite wisdom, my brain blares <em>Ladies and gentlemen, we got him,</em> at me when Baru reaches up to wrap his arms around my neck, and then I don’t think anything at all when he kisses me back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Ivette -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            “Bad luck,” I whisper to Izzie across Daphne and Blaire. Our illustrious host has reappeared with a root beer in one hand and Baru Tandon’s hand in the other. Both grinning. Izzie doesn’t share their glee.</p><p>            “God<em>damnit</em>, Freddy,” she says under her breath, then puts on a big smile, stands, claps for our attention, and says, “Alright, who’s up for karaoke?”</p><p>            Blaire is first to grab the disconnected microphone that Izzie’s produced for the occasion and cues up a song on Izzie’s laptop that’s instantly recognizable by its first chords. She blue-steels us as the lyrics kick in, and Daphne collapses into giggles next to me.</p><p>            “Baby can’t you see, I’m callin’. A guy like you should wear a warning. It’s dangerous, I’m falling.” Daphne, Izzie, and even Belle and I begin to sort of dance along on the couch, swaying to the beat of Blaire’s confident singing. She’s not got a bad voice for it, honestly; low, hitting the notes hard enough not to go flat. And clearly having fun.</p><p>            “You’re dangerous, I’m lovin’ it,” she continues. Julio’s sitting just under the little ‘stage,’ which is just the step up into the kitchen. Blaire’s sitting in front of it in her chair. “Do you feel me now?”</p><p>            She passes the mic to Julio as the chorus hits and I genuinely can’t tell if they planned it or not but Julio says in monotone, “With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride,” and passes it back to Blaire.</p><p>            “You’re toxic, I’m slippin’ under!” Most of us are singing along. Daphne’s still in a fit of giggles.</p><p>            It’s the perfect song to start karaoke, really; fast-paced and everyone’s singing along until we reach the end and all fall back in our chairs, laughing. Blaire pretends to bow a little and we bring her down with a round of applause.</p><p>            Freddy’s the next to launch himself up from his place next to Baru and chooses, in what should probably be predictable enough after going to school with him for three years, Lady Gaga.</p><p>            “I stand here waiting for you to bang the gong,” he jumps straight in, flaunting more than a little, “to crash the critic saying, is it right or is it wrong?”</p><p>            We clap along, and Freddy begins to add in the single worst robot dance I have ever seen. The only thing preventing me from administering first aid for the stroke he’s having is that he’s still singing strong. Also I don’t know first aid. I glance over at Baru to see him watching with the silliest grin. Penelope backs him up with the <em>A-P-P-L-A-U-S-E</em>.</p><p>            “Give me the feeling that I love! Turn the lights out!” He throws up his hands like a rockstar and Belle starts chuckling next to me. I turn to her, mostly on instinct, just so I can really appreciate the way it happens. I think her laugh might be my favourite thing about her, though it’s a close competition with the way her lips press together when someone says something stupid, like she’s physically restraining a sarcastic comment. Still, as she tilts her head back and she grins, revealing the way one of her canines is a little higher than the other, giving it a crooked, genuine look… This is getting embarrassing.</p><p>            Cory drags Lee and Heloise up for Rasputin, which turns into the entire cast doing it. We’re hardly singing at this point, just yelling the lyrics and intermittently bursting into laughter. I have no idea what Freddy did with his parents but there’s no chance they’re within a square kilometer of us or someone would have come down to tell us to the shut the fuck up.</p><p>            When it ends with everyone bright red, one spilled soda, and Cory, Lee, and Heloise taking their bows, Mel stands and clears her throat, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes as she watches her brother jump down. “Well, I had that one planned but I guess I’ll have to think of something else.”</p><p>            Cory passes the mic to her and apologizes, still giggling with exhilaration, which Mel waves off. “No worries. I’ve got something better.”</p><p>            It’s a faintly familiar song, but I can’t quite place it as Mel gently sings the first bars.</p><p>            “A long, long time ago, I can still remember, how that music used to make me smile.” She smiles. Everyone settles down for a quieter song. “And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance and maybe they’d be happy for a while.”</p><p>            Her voice is nothing show-stopping, if I’m being uncharitable, but there’s a kind of power to it that I can’t really describe. I think she loves this song.</p><p>            “But February made me shiver, with every paper I’d deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn’t take one more step. I can’t remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride, but something touched me deep inside, the day the music died…” She pauses, with a little grin like she’s about to tell us a secret. “So bye, bye, Ms. American Pie. Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry.”</p><p>            <em>Oh!</em> I know this song. I tap my foot along.</p><p>            “And good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing this’ll be the day that I die. This’ll be the day that I die.” Mel starts to sort of bounce along as the music picks up and I see the cast react, with more tapping feet. She knows the lyrics well enough that she’s not looking at the laptop anymore, singing to us each in turn. “Did you write the book of love and do you have faith in God above?” She sings to Cory and Heloise, then moves on to her brothers. “If the bible tells you so… And do you believe in rock ‘n roll?” She casts a hand over Moiz and Haiza. “Can music save your mortal soul? And can you teach me how to dance real slow?” She turns back to Heloise with a grin and does a little fake strum of an air guitar. “Well, I know that you’re in love with him! ‘Cause I saw you dancing in the gym. You both kicked off your shoes, man, I dig those rhythm and blues!”</p><p>            I take it back, Mel is a fantastic singer. She’s not even <em>singing</em> really, just performing the shit out of every lyric. Pretty confident every girl in the room just remembered why they were in love with her.</p><p>            “I was a lonely teenager bronckin’ buck, with a pink carnation and a pick-up truck. But I knew I was out of luck, the day the music died!”</p><p>            Everyone who has recognized the song joins in for the chorus.</p><p>            “Bye, bye, Ms. American Pie, drove my chevy to the levy but the levy was dry. And good boys were drinking whiskey and rye singing this’ll be the day that I die!” She points the mic towards us even though it’s not even connected to anything. “This’ll be the day that I die!”</p><p>            “Now, for ten years, we’ve been on our own,” she continues. “And moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone. But that’s not how it used to be… When the jester sang for the king and queen, in a coat he borrowed from James Dean, and a voice that came from you and me. Oh, and while the king was looking down, the jester stole his thorny crown. The courtroom was adjourned, no veredict was returned! And while Lennon read a book on Marx, the quartet practiced in the park, and we sang dirges int he dark. The day the music died.”</p><p>            It’s a long song, and probably would’ve been terrible for karaoke in any other case, but I’m having too much fun to care. Finally we hit the end.</p><p>            “I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her for some happy news. But she just smiled and turned away. I went down to the sacred store, where I’d heard the music years before, but the man there said the music wouldn’t play…” She pulls a fake serious expression, but as ridiculous as it is, it’s working. “And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried and the poets dreamed.” She smiles at Heloise.</p><p>            “And they were singin’...”</p><p>            We let her do it alone, then as the second repetion join her.</p><p>            “Bye, bye, Ms. American Pie!”</p><p>            There’s something weirdly satisfying about this kind of karaoke. A bunch of high schoolers, most of whom can’t sing for shit, just all enjoying a song together. I wonder how everyone else heard it first. I remember a street party our parents brought us to when we were little. The bigger kids had waterguns and Daphne and I had to wait ages to get our hotdogs, listening to this song over someone’s tinny radio. I know she’s thinking about it too, smiling to herself as we all clap for Mel.</p><p>            Then my sister grins and I know exactly what she’s about to do.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- Haiza -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>I can’t say I’m entirely surprised when Daphne launches us into the Twelfth Night musical without a hint of shame. Freddy’s eyes widen, nearly glowing with delight when he recognizes the music. I guess a lot of us checked it out, and checked it out enough that we all yell,</p><p>            “Feste! If music be the food of love, play on!”</p><p>            And so it starts. It looks like Ivette, Daphne, Izzie, Freddy, Heloise, and Blaire know it best, all enthusiastically joining in for the chorus. Then it hits Viola’s solo and I clear my throat. I don’t like singing in front of people, as a general rule. I don’t like people looking at me, I don’t like knowing they’re all waiting to see if I mess up, and I don’t like the chest-pressure anxiety feeling that builds the longer the solo goes on. But I’m warmed up from Toxic and American Pie and all so I might as well give it a shot. Lee gives me an encouraging nudge from his place on the couch next to me as I straighten up.</p><p>            “What country, friends, is this?”</p><p>            “This is Illyria, lady!” Freddy answers with a flourish.</p><p>            “And what should I do in Illyria?” Just spoken lines. All good. Then I draw in a breath and start singing, shakily. “Sebastian… Have you seen my brother? My twin brother? Sebastian… did he swim to shore too?”</p><p>            I finish the monologue without too much trouble, I think. I wish my voice was steadier.</p><p>            “Who governs here, in Illyria?”</p><p>            “Poor Orsino!” Everyone choruses, and Lee begins to strike poses in time with the music. I giggle as he whips his hair out of his face, all Byronic and tortured. “Our lovesick Duke. Poor Orsino!”</p><p>            “What a stud!” Freddy shouts, provoking more laughter, and an answering shout from Daphne,</p><p>            “Ew, puke!”</p><p>            Lee’s got a good voice too, warm and fairly confident of the lyrics, even as he gestures vaguely when it hits a line he doesn’t know. “Oh, oh, Olivia…”</p><p>            “Who’s Olivia?” I elbow him.</p><p>            “Poor Olivia!” Our little Greek choruses starts up again.</p><p>            Cory doesn’t know the lyrics at all but she takes a shot at lip-synching and playing up the drama ridiculously. I brace myself for more singing.</p><p>            “Oh, disguise, make them see, what kind of man I’ve gotta be!”</p><p>            Then a music break. Everyone cheers wildly as we finish out and I almost forget to be self-conscious, chiming in for the, “Play on!”</p><p>            We all tumble back, breathless and giving appreciative rounds of applause to Daphne and Freddy who seem to have an intuitive understanding of which part the other is about to pick up. When nobody steps up to change the music, we roll right ahead with the whole soundtrack.</p><p>            <em>Word on the Street</em> gets chaotic when no one knows who’s singing which part, leading to multiple instances of two people singing one and nobody singing the next, but something about it works. It helps that we don’t have a proper karaoke track; the studio singers fill in the holes.</p><p>            “Not my type!” Heloise exclaims of Orsino.</p><p>            “Or Olivia’s type!” Freddy chimes in.</p><p>            “No one’s Olivia’s type!”</p><p>            We finish it out with more applause even though we’re two songs in and the wheels are falling off. Freddy beckons to Lee as the next one starts. “D’you know it?”</p><p>            “Well enough,” Lee answers, already breaking into laughter. “Hey man, it’s in my range, I’ll take what I can get.”</p><p>            I feel myself going a bit red as I realize this is the duet between us, but stand up anyway with a little prodding from Moiz and Cory.</p><p>            “I’ve only known for three days,” Lee declares as the bouncing piano comes in. “But it feels like it’s been years. Something about you, kid, makes me wanna pour my secrets in your ear.”</p><p>            I’m vaguely reminded of how Claudio killed Henry Senior. I wouldn’t mind melting into the floor, dead, at the moment, just from how Lee’s swaying, all lovestruck and giggling at the edges. I nod my head along, trying not to visibly flush.</p><p>            “You’re the only one who knows my heart,” he sings. “So you’re perfect for this part! I want you, I need you… To tell her I’m her man! I know you can make her understand!”</p><p>            I hear laughs as people catch on to the joke of the song; the way he stretches out ‘I want you… I need you…’ Clearing my throat, I assure him,</p><p>            “I think not so, my lord.”</p><p>            “Dear lad, believe it!” Lee genuinely has a good voice. For all his assurances to me, I think he’s pretty embarrassed of his own singing too, but there’s a sweetness to him in song that makes my stomach flip. “You walk in the room, and it’s like summer come in early. You open your mouth, and I feel twenty-two again.”</p><p>            We laugh it off again, but there’s a smile lingering at the side of Lee’s mouth that makes me smile too.</p><p>            “And your smiiiiiiile,” he continues, playing it up, shifting from foot to foot and snapping along. “How can she say no to that smile? I want you. I need you… To tell her she’s my girl, boy you gotta get her for my girl.”</p><p>            I’m red, I know I am, but I dance along to his terrible little routine, nearly forgetting the dozen teenagers around us.</p><p>            “I want you,” Lee repeats.</p><p>            “So, so, you want me?” It comes out high and plaintive, just like it’s supposed to. And maybe I’m not acting a whole lot, but no one can tell, right?</p><p>            “I need you,” he adds, still grinning.</p><p>            I cough an aggressively manly cough. “You’re sure you need me?”</p><p>            “To tell her,” we sing.</p><p>            Lee begins to stumble through the bridge, less sure of the words but still smiling wide and bright, dancing around ridiculously. Finally, he settles down. “Prosper well in this, and thou shalt live as freely as thy lord to call his fortunes thine.”<br/>            I like that line. The double-meaning of Orsino promising to reward Cesario for a job well done, and the final resolution of the play where Viola will literally call his fortunes hers because they’ll be married. But we’re not done.</p><p>            “I want to,” I sing quietly. “I need to... tell you how I feel. I can never tell you how I feel.” And I try to keep up the goofy smile, but the energy of the song wanes in the final chords and something in my chest pangs. I’m really not ever going to tell him, am I? <em>Stupid,</em> some part of myself says. Every piece of advice I’ve ever been given has usually boiled down to “Shoot your shot! What do you have to lose?” But really, looking at him now, collapsing into laughter at the end of the song and dropping back onto the couch with me like a big dog curling up after a game of catch, I remember exactly what I have to lose. This. I could make everything so painfully awkward that we never speak to each other again. And isn’t this enough? Can’t I just be happy with sitting a careful two inches away and praying he doesn’t notice the way my breath catches when he smiles?<br/>            The next song goes quite skewy. Cory knows far too little of it and eventually Daphne jumps in to help.</p><p>            “Here madam, at your service,” Julio shouts from across the room.</p><p>            “I’m not for him!” Cory exclaims. “Hie, thee, Malvolio.”</p><p>            This part is going to go down in flames, certainly; Olivia, Orsino, and Viola all singing in a sort of triolet with different lines blending together. Daphne carries it off well but Lee gets distracted and starts laughing again.</p><p>            “If you were my beloved!” we all finish with varying levels of… getting anywhere near the correct notes.</p><p>            I stand up for Viola’s Soliloquy, and even though it’s a solo, I’m a little more confident now that I also don’t have to manage my proximity to Lee. “But I never gave her a ring…” I muse aloud to giggles. “So then… why’s she giving me a ring?”</p><p>            More laughter. The music stops.</p><p>            “Oh, shit.” I like this adaptation. “What could Olivia see in me?”</p><p>            On a whim, I pull Penelope up to sing too; I think it’s more on-brand for her than me. Still, we end up having a lot of fun, hamming up the drama of the song and abandoning the concept of ‘singing.’</p><p>            “Would I be enough in my own skin?” Penelope mopes, wiping fake tears. I’m glad to be free of this bit. Let’s not get <em>too</em> real with this disaster karaoke.</p><p>            As you’d expect from the most raucous song sung by the three people evidently most familiar with the soundtrack, You’re the Worst gets wild.</p><p>            “My friend, I know you best, but I like you anyway. And a real pal tells the truth, warts in all the way. Instead of a phony toast, you deserve an honest roast. So let’s all raise a glass to my favourite pain in the ass!” Freddy declares, hoisting his root beer. We join in with a cheer.</p><p>            As the roast moves on to Baru and his inability to flirt his way out of a paper bag, then a failure to roast Daphne when she ambushes Blaire with a kiss, who comes away positively beaming as she announces, “Actually, Maria’s kind of the best, I got nothing.”</p><p>            And so it continues with Freddy.</p><p>            Then Julio catches it, Blaire having far too much fun calling him a high horse riding son of a bitch, before the entire cast joins in with,</p><p>            “Let’s hear it for your true friends, who tell you straight to your face, that you’re a disgrace! Hear, hear!”</p><p>            Freddy flings himself into a chair. “Right, that’s cleaned me out. Haze, you have to do the next one.”</p><p>            “I <em>have</em> to do the…” That’s familiar music. Oh, fucking hell. “I mean, I…”</p><p>            “Yeah, you should.” Lee’s nudging me. I give him a death stare, and he laughs. “No pressure. But, y’know, it’s… a nice song. And you have a nice voice, and everything.”<br/>            On the scale of subtextual love confessions, I’m not sure if Shakespeare verse or karaoke sits higher. All the same, the part of myself that should never be allowed to make decisions seizes control and propels me to my feet, up to the little step by the dining room. I look over my cast and take a shaky breath. <em>Right. Better make it a good one.</em></p><p>            “I can tell you anything, my friend.” It’s quiet, maybe too quiet, rasping a little over the ends. “Except how I feel about you. ‘Cause I know you don’t return it.”</p><p>            Another deep breath. I can do this. They’re not looking at me like they’re waiting for me to fail, just like they’re enjoying the music and maybe hoping I’m a really good singer. I don’t know if I am, but I can sing stronger.</p><p>            “Though ain’t it obvious, my friend? I’m not myself around you… but I like who I am turning into.” Here we go. Here we go. Deep breaths, Haze, drop him a clue and he can decide if he wants to act on it or not. “‘Cause I been missing parts of me… But when I’m with you, I feel put back together. And I know I shouldn’t say it, but baby… Why don’t you see it?”</p><p>            Lee was smiling, and now he isn’t. What does it mean? Too late to think about it.</p><p>            “Is this not love?” Tisk tisk tisk. My heart’s thumping. “Is this not love that I feel for you? Do you feel it too? Is this not love?”</p><p>            I’m forgetting to think about my singing again, and it’s coming out a little too real. Well, it sounds better anyway.</p><p>            Lee’s voice rasps as he comes in with his line a second too late. “Once more Cesario, get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty. Tell her my love.”</p><p>            “But if she cannot love you, sir.”</p><p>            “I cannot be so answered.”</p><p>            Now I’m choked up. Not the ideal for singing. Keep it together, Haze. The next verse is a little easier, right?</p><p>            “But sometimes, your eyes catch mine, and I dare think it. Oh, I think you know it. Is this not love?” Chills wash over my body and I can’t seem to get out enough air to stop each line from choking me. “Is this not love that I feel for you?”</p><p>            Then we’re back to the text. The text that was first read to me when I was too young to even understand the normal words, back to help me try to tell him without showing so much of my hand that I ruin everything.</p><p>            “Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, hath for your love as great a pang of heart as you have for Olivia. You cannot love her, you <em>tell</em> her so; must she not then be answered?”</p><p>            “Make no compare between that love a woman can bear me and that I <em>owe</em> Olivia,” he says.</p><p>            “Aye, but I know.”</p><p>            “What does thou know?”</p><p>            “Too well what love women to men may owe. In faith, they are of true of heart as we.” And I know we’re both remembering the moment in his room.</p><p>            We continue through the lines, from rehearsals and late night line practice and dress and opening night and finally, now, when I almost feel like we’re alone but performing one more time. Does anyone believe we’re friends anymore? Can’t they all see what I’m desperately trying to show?</p><p>            “Was not this love, indeed?”</p><p>            “But died your sister of her love, my boy?”<br/>            “I know not.” Then another breath, a little more steady. I’ll put it in every word and I’ll wait for him to act. Please, Lee. The music begins again, and I sing, “Will I die without saying a thing? Will I wait here, for years, silently? Or will I risk it all? Lay bare my heart?”<br/>            And as fucking embarrassing as it is and as much as I want to move to a new country and forget I ever fell in love with my best friend and then wasted years on silence, I lock eyes with him and repeat,</p><p>            “Is this not love? Is this not love that I feel for you? Oh, I know you feel it, too. Is this not love? Is this not love, that we’re feeling, we’re feeling, oh, I know we’re feeling it, yeah.” And I’m finally hitting the kind of notes that come out with no audience, made all the more honest by his dark eyes trained on me, unreadable. Fuck this. He has to know. It’s gonna kill me, green and yellow melancholy and all that. I’m moving through the living room, back to his side as the last bit repeats. “Is this not love? Is this not love? Is this not...”</p><p>            Lee’s smiling a little now, a little shy and a little pleased with himself, and a little of some other thing that’s so quintessentially Leandro that I don’t know if there’s a word for everyone else. Sharing in someone else’s joy.</p><p>            “Sir, shall I to this lady?” I sit back down again, trying not to turn exactly to him but still staring.</p><p>            “To her in haste…” He blinks, then stretches out his hand to take mine. “Give her this jewel.” And he doesn’t take his hand away. I’m barely breathing, I think. “There’s for thy pains.”</p><p>            My mouth moves to form the next line, and as easy as breathing out he closes the distance between us, a hand coming up to cup the side of my head and draw me into him. I don’t faint. It’s a near thing. And it’s just the smallest, sweetest kiss, but I hold onto him, feeling something finally, finally snap into place. The music quiets behind us.</p><p>            First thing that pops out of my stupid mouth is, “Thanks.”</p><p>            Lee looks like he’s about to either laugh or keel over dead, settling on, “What…?”</p><p>            “For uh, making the first move.” I gesture. “I mean. Shit, man.”</p><p>            And then he does laugh, and without too much exaggeration, it’s literally the greatest sound I have ever heard. Someone else is saying something, but I am slightly distracted, something new fluttering in my chest. <em>Fuck, we’ve got a chance, don’t we? </em>An incredible feeling, to be un-turbo-fucked at long last. <em>Thanks, Shakespeare.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>- Heloise -</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>            I’m happy for them, even if it took too long for me to get my money back. Despite also losing his money to a grinning Ivy, Freddy’s watching Lee and Haze talk with a certain fondness of a person who’s been privy to way too much pining, and I certainly haven’t missed how the constant sliver of space between him and Baru has apparently dissolved. Penny’s also looking pleased with the outcome of karaoke.</p><p>            “Feels like a cheesy teen movie,” Mel remarks from next to me, but she’s smiling too.</p><p>            “What would your preferred ending be to all this?” I tease.</p><p>            “Serial killer picking us off one by one.” She shrugs. “Well, we’re a bunch of teenagers alone in a house and a lot of us are brown and gay, so I’ll hold out hope.”</p><p>            I laugh and lean back against the couch cushions, just savouring the feeling of being surrounded by people I like. More karaoke follows until everyone that wants to has had a go with microphone, then assault and battery against a pinata that bears no ressemblance to Malvolio at all, then a few rounds of Truth or Dare and Paranoia, where we discover that Blaire would throw Julio to the horde in a zombie apocalypse, Belle can do the Macarena in three seconds, Izzie is 90 gummy bears tall, and Freddy is unanimously voted ‘most likely to be found in a ditch.’</p><p>            As people’s creativity with their dares and truths and questions wanes, Izzie puts a stop to the game so everyone can refill snacks, then takes the centre of the room.</p><p>            “I have a new game to propose,” she says, clapping. “Now, as many of you know, I’m addicted to British panel comedy.”</p><p>            Freddy nods as if to confirm it, while the rest of us are baffled. <em>Of course she is. What is this school?</em></p><p>“And I was inspired by it to come up with my own little game. As we’re all theatre kids, I hope you all have sharp improv skills. Let’s divide into two teams and I’ll tell you the rules.”</p><p>            I end up on a team made of mostly tech crew with Mel, Izzie, Freddy, Baru, Julio, Daphne, and Blaire. Belle, Ivy, Moiz, Haze, Lee, Cory, and Penny make up the other, friendly competition already flickering to life despite no one yet knowing the rules of Izzie’s invented game.</p><p>            “Right! The way it goes is one person tells us all something about themselves or something they’ve done. It can be true or a lie, and then the other team quizzes them about the details. The aim of the game is to fool the other team, so once the team’s done questioning, they have to say whether it’s true or not. If they’re right, they get a point. If they’re wrong, the storyteller gets a point.”</p><p>            Izzie pauses, evaluating whether we’re catching on.</p><p>            “Bluffing, then,” Belle sums up.</p><p>            “Basically. Whoever thinks of one first can start.” Izzie sits down again.</p><p>            Freddy cracks his knuckles, then raises his hand. “I’ve got one.”</p><p>            Izzie nods, looking a little concerned that her brother might completely destroy the conceit of the game before we get through a single round, but Freddy waves off the look with a grin.</p><p>            “I’m the reason Bruno missed a performance.”</p><p>            “What?” Haiza bursts into laughter from the opposing team. “Well, that’s a lie, he had the flu.”<br/>            “Ah, but it was <em>my </em>fault he got the flu,” Freddy says, stroking his chin. I’m suddenly glad he’s on our team; I have absolutely no idea.</p><p>            “How?” Moiz asks.</p><p>            Freddy grins. “That is the question.”</p><p>            “You have to actually answer them for this to work,” Izzie reminds him, and Freddy grins wider.</p><p>            “Right. I sent him into a contaminated zone.”</p><p>            “What… The chicken soup,” Haze says suddenly, eyes widening. “Oh, god, I forgot. He brought me soup.”</p><p>            Cory erupts into laughter. “Why the hell did he bring you soup? And what, did you sneeze on him?!”</p><p>            “No!” Haiza blushes. “I don’t know. Freddy, you sent him with the soup?”</p><p>            Freddy nods.</p><p>            “Was this on purpose?” Belle interjects. “Did you poison my brother?”</p><p>            “Poison is a strong word.” Freddy bats his eyelashes, then drops the act. “Nah, it wasn’t on purpose. I felt bad, so I called in a favour and sent him over, and then he got sick and I realized you must’ve passed it to him.”<br/>            Cory raises a brow. “Yeah, this sounds like a bunch of lies. Passing soup to someone wouldn’t get you sick, would it?”</p><p>            “And Freddy would have done it on purpose,” Moiz adds.</p><p>            Freddy barks a laugh. “Oh, c’mon, I wouldn’t!”</p><p>            “What was the favour?” Haze asks.</p><p>            He colours, red as his hair. “Uh… I gave Bruno a present to give to Baru for his birthday because he forgot to get him anything.”</p><p>            Baru shoots him an amused look and Freddy purses his lips, still red.</p><p>            “Right, it’s a lie,” Cory announces, and Haze and Moiz nod.</p><p>            “Freddy?” Izzie asks.</p><p>            Freddy grins wide. “It’s true, actually. I think, anyway.”</p><p>            And the game continues much in that vein. We grill Cory on whether she totaled someone’s drone on her first in-car driving lesson, then Mel convinces the other team she bit a snake as a child.</p><p>            “But <em>why?!</em>” Penny repeats and Mel chuckles.</p><p>            “I saw the snake and thought ‘I bet I can bite that.’ I dunno, I was like, seven.”<br/>            Lee’s doubled over. “I genuinely don’t know,” he says into his palms. “I don’t… she’s a good liar, I’m warning you all. It could be true.”<br/>            Moiz frowns. “And who would make that up? Too weird.”</p><p>            “True, then,” Cory says.</p><p>            “Mel?”</p><p>            “Thank you, Leandro, I am a good liar. I didn’t bite a snake as a kid.”</p><p>            Our team claps for her as she takes a mock bow. Izzie’s marking down points, but no one much cares.</p><p>            “I’ve got one,” Lee pipes up, then shoots Haiza a grin. “Haiza and I got together last summer. We decided to pretend we were still just friends before the school year started because we wanted to fuck with you all.”</p><p>            Haiza has a grin twitching at the edge of her mouth, but then she schools her face into neutrality and nods. “Yep. It’s true.”</p><p>            “No chance,” Freddy bursts out, looking like his life is a lie. Cory’s grinning from the other couch.</p><p>            Mel and Julio are both frowning in thought. Then Mel says, “I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”</p><p>            Daphne laughs. “<em>Maybe</em> it is. They’re good actors.”</p><p>            I look at Mel, and see that she’s genuinely considering it. Then she shakes her head. “Naw. No way.”</p><p>            “Who made the first move?” Izzie asks them.</p><p>            “I did,” Haze says, still repressing that little grin that keeps seeping in at the corners.</p><p>            “Set the scene,” Blaire suggests. “Lee. This is your terrible lie, so let’s hear your improv.”<br/>            Lee looks delighted to be caught in the lie and is already spinning a story full of holes. “Right. We went to the beach.”</p><p>            “<em>What </em>beach?” Julio exclaims, incredulous. “We live in downtown Toronto.”</p><p>            “Oh yeah, I meant, we went bowling.” Lee takes a minute to compose himself as we laugh at his perfect recovery. “Yeah. We went bowling, and… uh. Haiza can tell you what happened next.”</p><p>            Haze starts laughing too. “Um, yeah, we were bowling, and I said ‘If I win, you’ve gotta go on a date with me.’”</p><p>            “Like hell you did!” Baru shouts from our side, grinning at his sister. “Not in a million years.” Moiz has his head in his hands.</p><p>            “Yep, that’s what she said,” Lee confirms. “And I’m actually incredibly good at bowling, but I threw the game because I wanted to go out with her.”</p><p>            “And Haze got ten strikes in a row,” Izzie adds.</p><p>            “And then everybody clapped,” Freddy finishes.</p><p>            “Yeah, how’d you know?” Haiza giggles. “Were you guys there?”</p><p>            “Let’s not draw this charade out any longer,” Mel says. “It’s obviously a lie.”</p><p>            Daphne holds up a hand. “On the other hand, maybe they’re doing such a bad job of lying in order to throw us off. Maybe it’s true.”</p><p>            “No chance,” Freddy repeats. “S’a load of bullshit.”</p><p>            “Lie, we’re saying?” Izzie checks. “Okay. Lee?”</p><p>            “Of <em>course</em> it was a lie.”</p><p>            Still, we give him some applause as Izzie marks our point down. The game continues, Julio avowing that he once pretended to be deaf and blind in an elevator, Penny failing to convince anyone that she’s an ex-horse girl despite it being true, and Izzie eventually joining in with,</p><p>            “I once nearly destroyed the auditorium’s curtains because I was laughing so hard.”</p><p>            Thus comes out the embarassing tale of Mel staying after school with Izzie to teach her the ropes, as it were, with the intention of flirtation, and Izzie’s obliviousness leading to a laughing fit in which she came close to tearing the curtains down when she fell over, and Izzie gaining the title of ‘only girl who wasn’t interested in Mel when she joined tech crew.’ Mel keeps up a good humour throughout, laughing at Izzie’s re-enactment of her reaching over Izzie to help pull the curtains, and chiming in with extra details about the moment she realized Izzie was straight.</p><p>            “Definitely true,” I say when they finish.</p><p>            “You’re on <em>our</em> team,” Mel giggles, swatting me.</p><p>            “Yeah, but it’s obvious.”</p><p>            We probably waste another few hours that way, rotating between the lying game, Truth or Dare, and Paranoia. A couple folks have to go, and things eventually wind down. I rest my head on Mel’s shoulder, just lingering in the feeling of the whole cast being together one last time. I guess we’ll all still be at school together, but this feels like the end of something, and I think I’m just… really grateful. I’m glad I ended up going here, I’m glad Penny tried out, I’m glad I joined tech and met Mel and the others, I’m glad that we did this and that everyone cared enough to really try to make it good.</p><p>            When Baru and Moiz get ready to go, I know it’s pretty much over. Lee and Haze are still chatting quietly, then she stands up to leave too. I peel off Mel and Penny and I start heading toward the door. Mel rounds up her brothers, and we all put on our shoes and coats.</p><p>            “Thanks for coming ‘round,” Izzie says.</p><p>            Mel smiles. “Yeah, no worries, it was a lot of fun. I guess I’ll see you when I have to train you for tech head.”</p><p>            “I’ll try not to wreck any more of the auditorium.”</p><p>She laughs, then touches my arm. “And I’ll see you Monday. We’ve got a tech meeting—talent show is in a month.”</p><p>I feel oddly relieved. I want to keep going to tech meetings, have an excuse to keep seeing them, and all that.</p><p>            I clear my throat. “Cool. Yeah. See you, then.”</p><p>            “See you.”</p><p>            And just like that, it’s over.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading. Like I said, I loved writing this and I hope you enjoyed it. And uh of course, please leave me a review! It’s been a good time, thanks.</p><p>~Akila</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, I very really much hope you’re having fun so far. I intend to publish a chapter every day (there are 12 in total and only the last one is unwritten) so don’t be a stranger!</p><p>~Akila</p></blockquote></div></div>
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